Night Train
by GeezerWench
Summary: Bella's been doing pretty well after getting through that rough patch. Moved across the country, owns her little house, has a pretty good job, and discovered a fascination with watching trains. Life was good, though a little dull. She should have realized the supernatural was never far behind. Written for the 2016 BiT Awards at BetterinTexasFiction. Collaborator: rissbenzo
1. Night Train Chapter 1

**Category** : Twilight

 **Summary** : Bella's been doing pretty well after getting through that rough patch. Moved across the country, owns her little house, has a pretty good job, and discovered a fascination with watching trains. Life was good, though a little dull. She should have realized the supernatural was never far behind. Written for the 2016 BiT Awards at BetterinTexasFiction. Collaborator: rissbenzo

 **Title** : Night Train

 **Author** : GeezerWench

 **Characters / Pairing** : Bella / Peter

 **Genre** : romance, action, drama, humor

 **Rating** : MA

 **Beta/Pre-Reader** : none

 **Banner by** : GeezerWench

 **Words** : n/a

 **Prompt/inspiration** : rissbenzo

 **Disclaimer** : Derivative work. I make no money.

 **A/N** : With much prompting and encouragement from rissbenzo, I started writing. Entered the first chapter in the Better in Texas Fiction 2016 BiT Awards.

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~o~o~o~

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Bella's mind wandered over the last several years, reclining in her Special Sitting and Thinking Spot. Yes, she mentally capitalized the name. It was the middle of June, but the night air was cool. She tugged the old flannel shirt she'd snagged from her father a little tighter around her.

She wasn't real sure _why_ she had chosen to move to Tennessee. In hindsight, seemingly serendipitous decisions had led her there.

After Edward had _gifted_ her with shredding what was left of her self-esteem to ragged ribbons, and abandonment, for her eighteenth birthday, she had been inconsolable. Bereft. Grieving as if someone more dear to her than life had died.

A few months later, during a cold snowy day in January, almost a year to the day since she'd moved to Forks, she snapped out of it. He hadn't cared about her at all, but she could care about herself!

There had been a rather bitter month or three where revenge on Edward had been at the forefront of her mind and at the top of her list. She struggled, but she managed to _not_ go to the Cullen house and break things or set fires. Or both.

Primarily because she could never figure out how to get away with it and keep it from her dad, Charlie. Being the local police chief's daughter had a few disadvantages.

She sighed and shifted her position against the tree she was using as a back rest and peered off to the east a bit, waiting for the night's first train to make its appearance.

The moon was three quarters full and once her eyes had adjusted, she could see fairly well, though the white moonlight washed all color away. Everything shone in shades of white, grey and black. Farther north, out beyond the paved road that had seen better days, and the two sets of parallel train tracks, she could just make out the soft gleam of the fresh concrete of the Dixie Highway Bridge. She missed the previous one. Something about the old-fashioned steel-girder suspension bridge had drawn her in, with its wide, thick iron beams that were riveted and welded together. It had looked strong and sturdy—like it could hold up to anything.

Anything but time.

Tennessee was quite pretty with its rolling hills, and she really enjoyed her job as librarian at Bridgeport Elementary. She loved her cute little house at the dog-leg curve on Pig Trot Road.

Every time she thought of the name, she'd chuckle again. A giddy sort of glee filled her each time she wrote the address on something.

She'd practically dissolved into hysterics when the first box of checks had arrived.

Her house was only a little white cottage—with red shutters, two bedrooms, and two baths, but it was all hers. It suited her to a _T_. She especially enjoyed the back porch. It was just the place to sip a cup of coffee and greet the new day. It was rather isolated, being surrounded by forest and farmland, but that was what she liked about it when she saw it online. It had recently been put on the market when she began looking. She took it as a sign.

Like when her old Chevy finally died and left her stranded right in front of a Toyota dealer. The little red, extended-cab Tacoma sitting front and center caught her eye. When a beam of sunlight peeked through the clouds, the chrome bumper winked and sparkled at her and Bella was hooked. It was a leftover from the previous year, but she didn't care. Charlie helped her buy it.

All-in-all, she was rather proud of herself. She was going to be twenty-five in a few months and she had a pretty good job and owned her own home. Of course, not having any kind of social life throughout high school and college had allowed her to put away a decent amount of money for a down payment. And Charlie co-signing the mortgage hadn't hurt. It was just a year later she refinanced it into her own name.

As much as she liked her house and the solitude, it didn't hold a candle to the Special Sitting and Thinking Spot.

After the cross-country trip and moving in, she'd been driving along one evening, trying to learn her way around the rural town, and chuckling over the name of her home street again, when a train went chugging by on tracks that ran parallel to the pavement. She still couldn't understand why, but the sight and sound of the massive, slow-moving engine pulling huge boxcars called to her. She had immediately pulled over and parked. Being dusk she could barely see, so she grabbed the flashlight out of the glovebox, hopped out of the truck, and made her way uphill through the open field to the tree line and sat down.

It had never even entered her mind she was trespassing on somebody's property. She'd sat there for hours that first night as the bright moon ascended and sailed through the star-filled sky. The train's steady movement and rumbling clickety-clack had been hypnotic and oddly restful. After it had disappeared to the west, it wasn't long before another had come into view. She didn't make it back home until well after midnight.

Watching the trains had become a ritual—her own form of meditation—and she looked forward to it during the times when the moon was brightest. She'd even taken Charlie once during his visit the previous summer. After he stopped worrying about being shot by an angry farmer, he had enjoyed it as much as she did. He'd said it was almost as much fun as fishing.

High praise from Charlie.

There was no need for her mother's burning incense, chunks of crystals, or unusual instrumentals. Bella's heart rate slowed with the lulling cadence of the steel wheels' rhythmic pace, and the high-pitched peeps and trills from insects, amphibians, and birds were the perfect musical accompaniment. Even the trains' deep whistle struck a chord within her. It was a lonely, mournful sound. Perhaps that was what drew her. She had to admit she was a little lonesome at times, but overall, she was content.

Bella sighed quietly again and redirected her thoughts to happier subjects.

School was out for the year, and it was two weeks before the summer school session started. She'd be back in her library soon enough. She'd never wanted kids of her own, but she really enjoyed sharing her love of reading with the young ones. It was especially satisfying when she'd discover the one thing a child who said they hated to read was interested in. She'd show him how to find out more about his favorite baseball player, superhero, or musician, and another book lover would be born right before her eyes.

Breathing in the warm earthy fragrance of the land and small forest at her back, a peaceful serenity filled her as she patiently waited for the first iron horse to trundle by. Until she heard the sharp snap of a twig breaking somewhere in the trees behind and to her left.

She opened her eyes a crack and peered down the hill toward the road and railroad tracks, and slid the heavy revolver from the holster on her left hip. Its load should knock down just about anything.

A few years before, her sense of self-preservation had finally kicked in. When Charlie had insisted she take the NRA Gun Safety course and get a concealed carry permit, she jumped at it. He'd bought her a 12 gauge shotgun to keep in the house, but she'd picked up the handgun for when she was train watching. It was much easier to haul around. She thought the black leather belt and holster made her look a little badass, too. They were both plain, but she'd made them herself from kits she'd bought online.

She desperately hoped the sound was a bunny and _not_ a rabid raccoon. Even a deer would be preferable. All she'd have to do was stand up and it would probably run away.

A person, or a vampire, would run right at her.

Since she had moved so far from Forks, she hadn't thought very often about Victoria, who'd found some bizarre pleasure in taunting the Quileute wolves, but the red-haired vampire was never too far from the front of her mind.

Knowing a gun wouldn't hurt her, Bella fervently prayed if it was Victoria, being fired at would stun her long enough for Bella to try and run. Not that she could ever outrun the bitch.

A jolt of fury at Edward shot through her. There were times when she could almost understand Victoria's unending need for revenge. She forced the thoughts away. She had to keep her wits about her.

She heard a faint shuffling in the leaves, coming from the same direction as the snap. She inhaled deeply and rolled, straightening her legs, propping her elbows on the ground, and taking a firm hold of the rubberized grip with both hands. One finger was poised over the trigger.

She left the little flashlight in her pocket, remembering that Charlie had told her it would help her to see, but it could also make her a target.

The moon was full enough she could discern shafts of slightly less black in the woods.

When a human-shaped shadow, wearing what appeared to be a cowboy hat, broke away from a wide tree trunk, sweat beaded on her upper lip and a cold chill shivered down her back. Her breath left her in a rush. "Stop!"

The man jerked to a halt, half in and half out of the moonlight. His hands came up level with his head.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya, honey," he said cautiously, his voice low.

"What are you doing out here?" Bella sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. She'd never pointed a gun at a person before, though she had fantasized, more than a few times, about shooting Edward just because.

The man shifted sideways into the moonlight until all of him was revealed by the soft white light. "I could ask you the same thing."

"I came out here to watch the trains. Is this your land?" Bella blurted and instantly regretted it. She could have kicked herself! She'd just admitted she was trespassing!

"No, ma'am. I suspect this isn't _your_ land either."

He was about twenty feet away, but she clearly saw the shrewd curve of his mouth beneath his cowboy hat. A wave of annoyance washed over her and she lowered the barrel just a hair.

The smile fell from his face and his hands dropped to cover his groin. "Okay, look, sugar. I didn't—"

"Reach for the sky, _partner_. I didn't say you could put your hands down." Bella waggled the gun at him.

His hands shot back up and he gulped. "Uh, why's a purty thing like you sittin' out here all alone?"

Bella raised the barrel back up and peered down the sights. If he lunged at her, she'd put all five shells dead center of that plaid shirt he was wearing.

"Uh, you like trains?" The man shifted uneasily from his right foot to his left. "I like 'em, too. Ever since I was young. I don't know anything about 'em, but I do like to watch 'em and this seemed like a good place with the road right by the double tracks." He shifted again and nervously cleared his throat, the young woman's silence unnerving him. "Uh, I won't hurt ya, I swear. I just wanted to … uh, maybe you'd like some company while you're waitin' for 'em? I mean, do you come here often?" He cringed, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking air in through his teeth. "I didn't mean—"

Bella cracked a grin at the man's obvious discomfort. "Are you trying to pick me up?"

"No! Wouldn't dream of it!"

Bella thought about that for a moment and decided she was a little offended. "Why not?"

"What?" he asked, his dark eyes going wide. "It's not like I wouldn't _try_ , you bein' all attractive and stuff, but I usually pick women up in bars, and they ain't holdin' me at gun point. Not that it isn't a very _nice_ gun," he added quickly, still attempting to placate her. "Sharp lookin' weapon. And … and very large, too. I like the brushed stainless over the blued or chromed myself. Is it a Judge? I like those. Been wantin' one."

Bella's smile grew wider. He'd identified her Taurus Judge and he'd said she was attractive. She took a second look at him and decided she liked his ruggedly handsome face, that shadow of stubble on his jaw, and the long, pale hair that reached his shoulders. Quite a bit different from the eternal teen with his short reddish hair and the perfectly smooth, boyish face. The way he was prattling on and on was kind of adorable. "You know you're babbling, right?"

He coughed out a breath. "Ain't every day a fella has a pistol aimed at his manhood. Bound to make anybody a might apprehensive." He turned his head and studied her from the corner of his eye. "What ya got it loaded with?"

"Triple aught shells."

He nodded thoughtfully, pursing his lips. "Those'd blow a few holes through somethin'."

Not two minutes before, Bella was in fear for her life, and there she was, fighting to hold in a giggle. Well, she _was_ presently holding all the cards … and the gun. An unfamiliar sense of power coursed through her. She had to admit she liked it. The pistol lowered incrementally until it was pointed at the ground.

"Ya know, I was thinkin'," the blond began as his hands casually drifted down until they were even with his slim waist. "This could be the start of a beautiful friendship. We already got a few things in common."

"And what would those things be?" Bella asked, cocking her head to the side but keeping the gun at the ready.

"We both like to wear blue jeans and plaid shirts."

"Who doesn't like to wear that?"

"Stupid people, I expect," he answered drolly.

Good answer. After her experience with Alice and all the _haute couture_ , most of it hideous, Bella had to agree with him, though she didn't say so out loud.

The man could be an ax murderer on the prowl for his next victim, but she couldn't resist asking, "What else?"

"We like watchin' trains in the moonlight and have an appreciation for fine firearms." His tentative smile returned.

Bella decided she liked the way his lips curved when he smiled. She also came to another decision. She'd been closer to death more times than she cared to think about, and she might be teetering on the edge again, but maybe the guy was a little lonely, too. Why else would he be out in the middle of nowhere, saying he liked trains?

Maybe he sat and thought about the cities they might be going to, or the beautiful countryside they were traveling through.

Maybe he wanted to be able to share the simple, unpretentious experience. Maybe he just wanted someone to share it _with_.

Against her better judgement, she found him to be more than a little appealing. There was something about that country boy charm.

Bella narrowed her eyes at his tall figure. "You're not an ax murderer are you?"

"No, ma'am." His expression grew hopeful. "I can honestly say I never killed anyone with an ax."

Why did she believe him?

"Okay, then." Bella gave him a sharp nod. "We can train watch together. I think I hear one."

"It'd be a whole lot easier to talk if I could come a little closer."

As she sat up and resumed her position against the tree, and rested the pistol across her lap, Bella waved him over.

He cautiously walked toward her and sat down on the ground a few feet away. Crossing his legs, he rested his hands on his knees. "So, uh, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

She couldn't help chuckling at the mischievous look on his face. "I've got a gun pointed at you and you're flirting with me? Using old pick-up lines?"

"Well, I've had more than a few folks say I didn't have the sense God gave a goose." He leaned toward her. "I'm hopin' my manly good looks will work for me."

As she laughed and shook her head at his audacity, he leaned closer. "And I know a pretty girl when I see one." He extended his hand. "The name's Peter, by the way."

"Pretty confident, aren't you?" Not quite ready to give up the hold on her gun, she reached for his hand with her left. "And I'm Bella. Nice to meet you, Peter."

She froze when she felt the familiar hard skin she would never forget. Time seemed to slow to a crawl even as her thoughts began racing when his cool fingers enveloped her hand.

She looked down at their joined hands and back up to his eyes. Funny how no matter how bright the moon, she wasn't able to distinguish colors. She'd assumed his eyes were brown like hers. Were they a deep burgundy or were they black with thirst?

She was sure he hadn't been lying about never killing anyone with an ax. He wouldn't need any weapons at all.

He'd done a good job of convincing her he was afraid of being shot.

The train they'd been waiting for finally came around the bend from the east. Bella glanced toward it wistfully; saddened that it would be the last one she ever saw.

She could almost hear Charlie's voice in her head saying, "I told you so. You shouldn't be out in the dark like that alone."

Only he'd been worried about wild animals like coyotes or bears.

She let out a resigned breath. "You're a vampire."

The engine passed directly in front of them, and Bella found herself disarmed and flat on her back, Peter hovering above her. She wondered if that was his real name, but what difference would it make? He held both of her hands down on her stomach with only one of his. Her legs were free, but she didn't bother trying to kick him to get away.

She was only mildly concerned about where his hat had gone.

There was no point in screaming—no one would hear her. It wouldn't make a difference if anyone did.

She should have realized, with as good looking as he was, he'd have no problem finding company when he wanted it, and she had been sucked in again by supernatural beauty, even if he wasn't as _pretty_ as the Cullens had been.

It was only a matter of time and her time had run out. She'd always assumed Victoria would be the one to catch up with her, not some random cowboy vamp. Or one pretending to be a cowboy.

The rigid tension left her and she deflated beneath him. "I can't fight you off. You may as well just go ahead and drain me. Get it over with."

"I was thinkin' about it. You smell delicious." The flirtatious smile gone from his handsome face, he studied her with a calculating eye. "Then I saw that bite," he said, his voice low. Gradually, he released her hands and pushed the cuffed sleeve up her right forearm. "Made me curious. I figured you were a smart one, but only someone who's a fighter would have a scar like that and survive to tell the tale." His fingertip traced over the old silvery mark. "Or maybe you're just real damn lucky."

"If I was so damn smart, how come I didn't realize you were a vampire?" Bella scoffed, her tone full of acid. "And lucky? Here I am, smelling all yummy and about to be eaten by a vampire. _Again_."

"I ain't gonna eat ya. You got a story I wanna hear and we got night trains that need lookin' at." His shining hair fell into his face when he tilted his head downward, and his grin grew wide. "I think I'll keep ya."

.

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	2. Night Train Chapter 2

This gets updated over on Better in Texas Fiction first.

 **Disclaimer** : Derivative work.

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~o~o~o~

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 _Keep her?_

What did he mean by that? Should she be scared or outraged?

He could easily grab her and hide her away … make her disappear.

Thoughts of being _kept_ by another vampire froze the marrow of her bones. Memories of having everything, from what she put _on_ her body to what she put _in_ her body, chosen for her sent that flash of cold fury streaking through her veins.

Apparently, she settled on pissed off.

She planted her hands on his chest and shoved.

Thankfully, he decided to go along with it or she'd have hurt herself.

"Hit a nerve, sugar?" Peter combed his fingers through his hair, set his hat back on his head, and raised one eyebrow in question.

"I … you …." Fuming, she glared at him as she sat up and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay. I'll wait." He leaned back on his elbows and crossed one ankle over the other. "'Nother train after this one. Let's just watch 'em for a while."

She was a little taken aback when he didn't try to insist that she tell him what was on her mind. Edward would have poked and prodded and cajoled her. If that hadn't worked, he'd have batted his eyelashes and pouted until she gave in and did what he wanted. Or would have done that dazzling thing he did.

Alice had been no different with her big tear-filled eyes and trembling lower lip.

It wasn't the first time she compared them both to doted upon toddlers.

Peter was _not_ Edward Cullen, and she had to remember that. Just like all humans weren't alike, neither were vampires. But her time with the favored Cullen _children_ had taught her to spot a pampered prince and princess a mile away. Somehow, _they_ were all alike, whether they were flesh and blood or pale as marble, and they all used the same little ploys.

Perhaps Peter was using a different tactic—allowing her to live long enough to satisfy his curiosity about her scar before he killed her.

Regardless, there wasn't much she could do about it.

They lived so long; any new thing they came across had to be fascinating to them. Like the hundred-year-old high school boy, was she just a momentary distraction to Peter?

She hoped she wasn't. Maybe he was just curious about the girl who survived a vampire attack and would wander off again after he'd heard about it.

Fat chance.

There was a part of her that didn't want him to up and leave after hearing the story.

She didn't want to die either.

If all he wanted was the details, he could have forced her to tell him. Maybe all he _did_ want was someone to share a quiet evening with.

Following the tail end of the train as it clattered on down the track, she surreptitiously studied the silent vampire lounging in the stubbly grass and weeds. He hadn't been transformed at the brink of adulthood—he'd been a man when he'd been attacked.

In a way, he reminded her of Carlisle and Jasper. It wasn't just the blond hair, although his was even lighter than theirs. They had both been young men when they were bitten and changed, but they had been leading adult lives. Esme had been a married woman. Pregnant with her first child when she'd bravely struck out on her own to get away from the abusive husband and try to make a better life for her and her child.

Even Emmett had been working to support his family.

Responsibilities added a certain character and strength to a person's face she hadn't been aware of when she was a child of seventeen and first met Edward.

Peter looked more like he was closer to Esme's age. Maybe older. What kind of life had he been stolen from?

When Alice crossed her mind again, she felt a fleeting pang of guilt, but it didn't last long. Alice hadn't been given a chance to really grow up when she had been put in the asylum, though the girl was more than intelligent enough to know what she was doing. She'd had decades to practice her little games. They had worked well on the teenage Bella.

Despite Bella's flair of resentment, and the unavoidable fact there was a deadly predator not five feet away from her, the distant low whistle of the next train approaching from the west caused her to inhale deeply with quiet expectancy. It was soon in front of them and its rhythmic tickety-tickety lulled her into the familiar, and welcome, state of relaxation.

When Peter turned his head to follow the path of the dark-colored engine, he smiled knowingly at her and raised his eyebrows.

She hadn't even realized she'd been staring at him. With a resurgence of her ire, she wasn't embarrassed in the least at being caught. "I don't need a vampire to _keep_ me. I can take care of myself."

"I can see that." He sat up and lifted Bella's pistol from his far side. He placed it on the ground between them.

That wasn't what she'd expected him to say. She hadn't expected to see her gun again either. She carefully took it and slid it back into its holster. "Um, thanks. Is Peter your real name?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a slight upward tilt of his head.

"Do you have a last name?"

"Several." He plucked a long stalk of field grass from in front of him and ran his index finger and thumb down its length until he reached the bottle brush-like end. "A lot of times, we vampires don't remember much of our human lives. I don't remember what my last name was, so I've used a few different ones when I needed 'em for one reason or another."

Bella just nodded and scooted back until she came in contact with the tree she'd been leaning against before.

They sat quietly, keeping their thoughts to themselves, while numerous steel box cars headed to the east.

After a third train had gone by, Bella groaned and stood up, stretching out her arms and cracking her back. Neither one of them had said a word for quite a while, but it hadn't been uncomfortable or awkward. It had actually been nice, though she was unsure of what would happen next. If she made an attempt to get back home, would he let her? "Well, Peter, it's getting late. _Meeting_ you was the most excitement I've had for a while, and I'm kind of tired." Starting to feel anxious, she pulled her flannel shirt closed and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Are you … can I go home?"

He smiled up at her. "You can do whatever you want, sugar."

The next moment, he was standing in front of her and taking his hat off with his left hand while he held his right out toward her.

She flinched at the sudden movement. Once again, she was surprised at how fast vampires could move. She studied his hand for a moment and then peered up into his eyes. He was taller than Edward, she noticed, and his actions hadn't been threatening in any way. He was waiting, an expectant gleam in his eye.

Finally, she realized what he was waiting for. Uncertainly, she reached out. When her fingertips touched his palm, he bowed over her hand and placed a feather-light kiss on her fingers.

"Miss Bella, I had a most pleasant evenin' in your company. May I escort you home?"

What would happen if she refused? Would he let her go? He could just let her leave because he wouldn't have any trouble following her. If she somehow managed to lose him along the road, he'd probably be able to find her scent and be at her house before she was.

All she read in his face was … anticipation? Was he truly asking permission?

Bella knew what good liars they could be, but she felt she could trust him not to hurt her.

At least until he got his story.

When she realized several minutes had passed, and she hadn't answered him and was still holding his hand, she snatched hers away. His skin wasn't as perfectly smooth as Edward's. Could vampires get callouses? No. He must have worked hard when he was a human. She ducked her head in embarrassment. She had liked it.

"Y-yes." Bella gestured down the hill. "My truck is parked down there."

Replacing his hat on his head, Peter smiled warmly at her and offered his arm.

Fingers resting lightly on his forearm, Bella walked beside him, watching where she put her feet instead of him.

Halfway down the slope, Peter came to an abrupt stop, his eyes wide.

Checking all around them for any sign of danger, Bella didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There were no cars coming, and she didn't see any lights heading toward them. There were no sounds except for the little night creatures. "What's the matter?"

Letting out an exaggerated discouraged sigh, Peter dropped his chin to his chest. "A _Toyota_?"

.

~o~o~o~


	3. Night Train Chapter 3

This gets updated first on Better in Texas Fiction. There's a nice banner, too, even if I do say so myself.

Derivative work.

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~o~o~o~

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"What is it with you vampires and dissing my choice of vehicle?" Bella left Peter standing there and stomped off down the gradual slope to her little red truck parked on the gravel shoulder.

"I didn't really mean nothin' by it, sugar. It's just it's … kind of _small_."

"It suits _me_ just fine, thank you very much!" Blood boiling, Bella tripped over a rock but quickly caught herself. She wasn't nearly as clumsy as she had been. _Thank God_. To forestall a word vomit about Edward, and his constant disparaging remarks about her father's gift, she locked her jaw down tight. She had loved that truck.

"Sounds like another story!" Peter beat her to the driver's side door and opened it with a flourish. "Ya know you should lock the doors."

"Locks only work against honest men," she grumbled. "Honest _humans_ ," she amended, remembering Edward had no problem getting into anything, but he hadn't exactly been completely honest had he?

She dug her keys out of her pocket and held them up in front of Peter's nose. When he didn't immediately take them, she gave him a confused look. "Aren't you going to insist on driving?"

"No, ma'am. It's _your_ truck. I was just bein' polite." When Bella climbed in, he shut the door, and then made his way around to the passenger side. After taking off his hat, he carefully folded his long body into the seat and pushed it back as far as it would go. He scooched down until his knees were braced against the dashboard and he was hunched over the hat in his lap. "I just took you for a Silverado kind of gal."

Bella snapped her seatbelt into place, started the engine, and turned on the headlights, fighting to keep the amusement from her face at his obvious discomfort, even though he actually had plenty of head room. "Blue jeans and flannel shirts equal Chevys?" She checked her mirrors and pulled out onto the asphalt, making a U-turn to head toward home.

"Uh, somethin' like that." He faced forward and clasped his hands together on his knees, sitting stiffly. "A little close in here."

Suddenly concerned, Bella hit the button on the door armrest to roll down the window. "My scent too much for you?" Why was she worried about whether he was comfortable or not? She had just been trying not to laugh at him having to fold himself in half to fit.

"Nah, I like it, you smell good. It's just I'm practically sittin' in your lap, which wouldn't be a bad thing as far as I'm concerned, truth be told, but it might distract you from your driving." The side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile.

Was he flirting with her again? Peeking at him from the corner of her eye, she decided to ignore the last part. She'd never admit it to him, but he smelled pretty damn good to her, too. "I used to have an old Chevy pickup. My dad bought it for me."

"It's obvious you've been in contact with my kind before. Right damn rude of 'im to bite ya because he didn't like your truck, if you ask me."

"That was two different vampires," Bella casually supplied. At the startled looked on Peter's face, she laughed out loud.

She was still chuckling when Peter recovered and asked, "You knew _two_ different—"

She drove cautiously around the first dog leg curve in the road, ever watchful for deer or other animals that might run into the road. "It was ten of them. A coven of seven, and then three nomads." After another near hairpin turn in the road, she drove a bit farther and then bumped onto a gravel lane that could barely be seen in the dark, situated between some trees. "Two of those nomads are dead." She took a quick glance at her silent passenger and, even in the dim lights from the dashboard, she spotted an unidentifiable emotion flash across his face.

She continued on past a white picket fence and around to the back of the little house. An outdoor flood light lit the area, and she parked, shutting off the engine.

"Well, this is my house," Bella said with false brightness, trying to lighten the tension filling the cab. She unbuckled the seatbelt and opened her door, peering closely at Peter's face when the dome light came on.

She would have sworn there was an angry cast to his handsome features, but it was gone too fast for her to be sure.

"Nice place ya got here." Once again, he was out of the truck and standing on the porch before she had her keys out of the ignition.

Bella just shook her head as she walked up the steps to join him. Peter propped open the screen door as Bella unlocked and pushed open the crossbuck entry. "Here's my kitchen. Have a seat while I make a cup of tea."

She bustled about the kitchen area, keeping the work island between them, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. Studiously ignoring him while she waited for the water to boil, she nervously wiped down the counter and stovetop before fetching a mug from the cabinet and the canister of tea bags.

Once the tea pot began to whistle, she fiddled with the tea bag and mug as long as she could, but she couldn't delay any longer. Making her way around the island, she noticed he had chosen her usual chair—the one against the far wall where he could see both the kitchen and living room, and the front and back doors. He had taken his hat off and placed it on the chair next to him at the little round table.

Setting her drink down, she pulled out the chair opposite him and dropped onto it. "So which story first?"

Hands folded over each other on the simple wooden table, Peter leaned forward with a small smile. "I wasn't putting down your truck. Let's start with that." He sat back and draped his arm over the chair back, as relaxed as if he'd done it a hundred times.

After a sip of her tea, Bella wrapped her hands around the cup and rested her elbows on the dark wood. "I'll sort of start at the beginning. My parents divorced when I was really young, and I lived with my Mom until I was seventeen. That's when I moved in with my Dad, Charlie. He bought me this old, rusty truck as a welcome home gift, I guess. It was a 1953 Chevy and wouldn't go over fifty miles an hour. It was built like a tank, and I loved it. It happened to die right in front of a Toyota dealer. That's when I bought the Tacoma. If I'd had the money, I would have kept the Chevy and restored it. I just didn't since I was going to school."

She shrugged and took another drink. "Anyway, my boyfriend at the time didn't like the truck. I guess it wasn't good enough for him." She couldn't completely suppress the sneer. "He would make snide remarks and even offered to buy me a _proper_ vehicle. His sister kept buying me these expensive designer clothes, and they both insisted I wear them. I suppose my clothing choices were beneath them as well."

When Peter raised an inquisitive brow, Bella added, "That guy and his family were pretty well off. Everybody thought I was dating him for his money, but that wasn't it." Absently, she stirred the tea, staring down into the steaming liquid. "He didn't care that I liked the truck or that it was a gift from my Dad, who wasn't made of money. Dad bought it from a friend of his, and I think he did it to kind of help them out. His friend was confined to a wheelchair and wasn't able to work his job anymore. It was just him and his son, and they didn't have much."

Peter just nodded. "That _boyfriend_ sounds like he was a stuck up snob, and you're better off. I also think there's a whole lot more to that story."

Drawing in a deep breath, Bella knew it was time to just spill it. Since she met Edward and the Cullens seven years before, she'd been living on borrowed time. Being a human, there wasn't any way to keep ahead of the supernatural forever. She may as well just tell him and when she was done …

She didn't know what happened to a person after they died, but she thought she would miss her job with the kids at the school. Regret filled her when she realized she wouldn't be able to tell her father and mother goodbye. What would happen to her little house and her truck? Charlie and Renee would have to take care of them. Would all her stuff be hauled off to the landfill or Goodwill? Or would Peter take what he wanted and just abandon everything else?

Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she then blew out a breath. "That stuck up boyfriend was a vampire."

Peter pursed his lips slightly and nodded. "I figured as much. And _he_ was not the one who bit you," he stated.

"Right." Bella returned his nod and sipped at her tea again. Her throat had gone dry. She had to stop thinking about her parents, her career, her few possessions—every single one she had worked for and earned—and just get on with it. She really wasn't afraid, but she hoped Peter would make it quick. "I met him in high school and knew there was something different about him and his _family_. Remember that guy I mentioned who my Dad bought the truck from? He's the chief of a tribe of Native Americans. There's something _special_ about their tribe. Certain members are able to turn into werewolves." Peter didn't look the least bit surprised at that revelation. "I'd heard some of their legends when I was a kid." She shifted in her chair. "They turn into wolves to keep vampires off their land."

The vampire's fingers tapped out a few staccato beats on the worn wood, the only sign of any kind of tension, but Peter just smiled, encouraging her to continue.

"He—the boy—took me to meet his family and to watch them play baseball. I'd figured out by then they were vampires from the legends I'd heard, so he thought he would introduce me to everyone. They only get to play baseball when there's a thunderstorm, so—"

"They didn't try to get ya to play did they?"

"Oh, no. I was an umpire with the … _mother_ , I guess. Which I sucked at because they were moving so fast, I missed most of the actual game." She tucked her hair behind her ear and wrapped her fingers around the mug again.

Lifting his arm from the back of the chair, Peter rested both forearms on the table between them, weaving his fingers together and pointing at her with his index fingers. "That _boy_ ripped your heart out and stomped it into a million pieces. Then the whole coven left you high and dry."

Bella gulped. "How … how do you know that?" Wide eyed, she looked up at the serious cast of his face and her gaze dropped back to the cooling mug.

"You just told me, sugar." Peter stood from the table, placed his hat back on his head, and pushed his chair in. "That _and_ you're still a live human." Without a sound, he moved at a human pace to the back door.

In disbelief, Bella just gaped at him. "You're leaving?"

"Yep." He reached for the door knob.

"I-I thought you … I mean, I—" Her chair scraping across the floor, she turned to face him completely. "I thought I was going to die."

"I said I wasn't gonna eat ya, and you got more stories." His eyes moved to her hands and back to her face. "I'll be back. I wanna hear 'em." Stepping through the door, he paused and turned back. A beaming grin spread across his face, and he winked at her. "They say the best way to get over a man is to get under another one." He disappeared—the only sign of his passing was the fluttering of the curtains on the door.

.

~o~o~o~


	4. Night Train Chapter 4

Remember ... derivative work. And it's updated on BetterinTexasFiction first. There's a banner over there, too. I'm seeing Charlie Hunnam as Peter in this one.

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~o~o~o~

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After Peter left so abruptly, Bella just sat at her table, dumbfounded, mouth hanging wide open. She'd been sure she was going to die, even though she hadn't told the story about the scar yet. Maybe he _did_ want to hear it.

She still wasn't certain if he was flirting with her, even with a line like _that_.

Why would he bother? He could have anyone he wanted.

So she smelled good. It wasn't like she hadn't heard _that_ one before. Vampires were supposed to be so damn smart—couldn't they come up with a better line?

Exhaustion draped over her like a thick blanket, and she was _that close_ to lowering her head to the table to have a little nap. Unhappily, she knew if she did, she'd pay for it the next day with stiff, aching muscles.

If she woke up at all.

Groaning in frustration, she hoisted herself out of the chair and pressed her fingertips to her temples, staving off the threatened headache. She couldn't decide if he was trying to seduce her with his quirky, down-home charm or if he was tenderizing her for his dinner.

Bella spent the next little while checking and re-checking the doors and windows, ensuring they were locked, and the curtains were tightly drawn. She grabbed a chair from the kitchen and carried it to her bedroom to brace it under the door knob.

Unbuckling her gun belt, she set it on the night table instead of storing it in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe like she usually did.

Another idea popped into her head when she was brushing her hair after a long hot shower. She'd take a couple of the long hairs from her brush and close them in the windows at the front of her room.

A little talcum powder on the sills would also let her know if anyone came in.

Shuddering with a sudden chill, she couldn't believe she used to think Edward creeping through her window at night to watch her sleep was _romantic_. Anymore, the thought of it knotted her stomach and gave her the heebie-jeebies. She added a long-sleeve T-shirt over the Forks High gym shirt she normally slept in. It was cool for June—an old pair of sweat pants would go over the sleep shorts.

Okay, she was acting a little paranoid. Was it paranoia if someone really _was_ after you?

When she finally got into bed, she pulled the light-weight quilt and top-sheet up to her chin and willed herself to relax enough to try and sleep.

She'd watched a show where the heroes used salt to keep the things that went bump in the night from coming in the room.

It was a shame that little helpful hint didn't work in the real world.

But, maybe …?

She thought about the shotgun hidden by the front door, and then growled at herself in disgust. Nothing she had done would keep vampires out if they wanted to get in. A salt line around the perimeter of the floor wouldn't even stop ants.

Flopping over onto her side, she pulled the blanket up over her head and peered at the windows.

Curtains closed.

Check.

Facing the windows meant the door was at her back. She twisted around until she could see _it_ in the dim glow of the nightlight from her bathroom. The chair was jammed securely under the knob.

There was nothing else she could do.

She closed her eyes and hoped the night wouldn't be filled with reruns of those nightmares she used to have.

Somehow, she fell asleep, but it had been anything but restful. At first, though she couldn't make out any faces, her dreams had featured distorted images of hate-filled eyes—bloody crimson and bone-freezing ebony. She fled through gloomy, dank forests, unable to escape until the murky scene shifted and she was confronted with hard and unfeeling yellow eyes.

Typically a warm and happy color, she shivered with dread as they glinted coldly with a pale hint of green. They stared right through her as if she wasn't there until recognition sparked in their cruel depths and they turned a malevolent shade. Running was pointless, but she did it anyway, struggling to break through brush and low limbs that raked at her hair and clothes.

She tripped and stumbled for miles through the heavily oppressive forest until eyes the color of deep red wine swam into view. Panting for air, she stopped, bracing her hands against the thick, rough trunk of a tree. She studied that new pair. They were kind and warm, and Bella wanted to get closer—see who they belonged to. Directly behind her, a branch snapped with a sharp crack.

She jerked awake, gasping for breath and fighting against the tangled sheet and blanket. Looking wildly around the room, her attention settled on the bench under her windows. Thankfully, no one was sitting there, watching her.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she wiped the sweat from her face with a sleeve and flopped back onto the pillows. Even more wrung out than when she'd gone to bed, she knew she'd never get back to sleep. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock read four-eleven.

Apparently, it was time to get up and take another shower.

After turning on the bedside lamp, Bella stripped the bed of the sweat-soaked sheets and quilt and dropped it all on the floor. It was good day to do laundry and hang everything on the line after the sun came up.

Relieved the hairs were still shut in the windows, and the powder on the sills undisturbed, she grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe and went into her bathroom.

Hours later, Bella was at the front of her house in the shade, on her hands and knees, kneepads in place, utterly decimating weeds and finally spreading around the bags of mulch she'd bought a couple weeks before. Hot, sweaty, and dirty, she was ready for a break.

She sat back on her heels and pulled off the purple floral-print garden gloves and wiped her hands on her shorts. Next off was the big, floppy pink hat, and she tossed it on the ground next to the gloves. She gazed around the compact yard and smiled at the riot of color of the flowers and the little patch of green lawn enclosed by the vinyl picket fence. There'd been no rhyme or reason to it all—she just planted what she liked—mostly perennials and a few bright annuals. Unfortunately, the deer appreciated most of them as well. The fence helped to keep the voracious creatures out, and it was just so darn cute.

Farther down the yard toward the road, she'd sown seeds for a butterfly and hummingbird garden. It was wild and messy and colorful, and she loved it.

The smile turned bittersweet when she remembered it would most likely be the last time she would be able to work in her gardens. She hadn't even gotten a tomato yet from the little vegetable patch out back.

Easing off her legs so she was sitting, she peeled back the Velcro straps of her kneepads and placed them next to the hat, gloves, and hand tools she'd been using. She might not have much time left, but she would try to enjoy it. Lying back in the soft grass, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Feeling the warm summer breeze, she could smell fresh green grass and the delicate flowers, and there was a hint of sweet honeysuckle. Something else she couldn't identify tickled at her memory and she breathed even more deeply to pull in the scent. The contact with the earth seemingly drained the tension right out of her and she sighed in bliss. She'd load everything in her wagon and put it away later.

The idyllic moment didn't last long. Instinctively, she felt eyes on her and knew she was being watched. The shotgun was in the house, along with her pistol—out of reach. The only nearby weapons were the little garden implements. Straining to hear anything besides the birds off in the woods or the line of trees to the east, she cautiously reached for and grabbed the closest tool, sat up, and rolled to her left, holding the little spade out in front of her like a knife.

Peter, cowboy hat sitting jauntily on his head and thumbs hooked in his pockets, was standing in the gravel driveway, sun shining and glittering off his bare forearms.

Struck dumb at the sight, Bella could only sit there, gaping at him. Obviously, her mind _was_ a sieve because she recalled Edward's exposed skin having a harsher sparkle. At the time, Bella had believed it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Then there was Peter. His arms glistened radiantly in the midday …

It was more like mid-afternoon. How long had she slept?

No more than a few hours. Fleetingly, the thought ran through her mind she was glad she'd been in the shade.

How long had he been standing there?

She lowered her make-shift weapon to the grass. Peter just watched her, not saying a word.

Attention recaptured by the golden shimmer, Bella wondered, since he was a vampire like Edward, why did he look so different? If he took off his hat and shirt, would his body have the same captivating gleam? And the rest of his clothes …

Shaking her head and tearing her eyes away from him, she couldn't believe she was thinking that way. He showed up to get the rest of the story and then that would be _it_ for her.

 _All_ vampires were beautiful. Or that's what Edward had said, claiming it was part of the allure to draw in their prey. Except for James, who, compared to the usual standard, had been rather plain for a vampire. Or were the Cullens all exceptionally pretty? She glanced down to the scar on her right arm and back up to Peter.

Head cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised, lips curved in an arrogant smirk, arms crossed over his wide chest—he was pretty, and he knew it.

Though _pretty_ wasn't the right word.

Bella wrinkled her nose and frowned at him. "Come back for more stories?"

"Sure did." He walked toward her, braced one hand on a post, and hopped the low fence as if it was nothing.

She should be scared, but she wasn't. Resignation was the dominant emotion, besides intrigue about her _guest_. Who he was, who he had been, where he came from.

"I have to put my things away and get a shower—I'm all grungy from—" She waved her hand toward the tools and empty mulch bags. She didn't want to die all stinky.

"I'll help ya."

He was in the shade of the house and his forearms weren't quite as distracting as they had been, but it was a near thing.

What was it about men's forearms?

Bella squeezed her eyes shut and started to get up off the ground and her right leg gave out. Over the last few years, the other injury she had received from the nomad James had been giving her a little trouble. An ache from the cold or rainy weather was expected. Not holding her up was a whole new thing.

Peter was right there, a hand at each shoulder, supporting her. "Bum leg or did it fall asleep?"

His cool hands gripping her upper arms, and being that close to him, was a little overwhelming. "Uh …"

That unidentifiable scent. She should have recognized it. It was Peter. She should have remembered from sitting next to him in her truck, but she'd rolled the window down for him and had been preoccupied slightly by running across yet another vampire and not being dead.

She couldn't find her voice until he took his hands away. Flustered, she backed away from him and almost fell over the wagon. "Er, that's part of the story."

"I saw the scars." Taking her hands to steady her, the warm garnet of his eyes held her motionless. "You just sit tight. I'll get your stuff."

When everything was in the wagon and he was pulling it toward the gate on the far side of the yard, Bella tested her leg and hurried after him. "I've got sheets and stuff on the line …"

"I'll get them, too. This stuff goes in the shed out back?" Peter waited and then latched the gate behind her.

He was being so nice and polite. Again, she should have been afraid, but she was actually grateful for his help. Then she remembered what _else_ was on the clothesline and blushed scarlet. "N-no, I'll get the laundry."

Little red wagon bumping along behind him, Peter looked over his shoulder at her, the corners of his twinkling eyes crinkled with humor. "Embarrassed? Don't be, sugar. I've already seen your panties. I like 'em. Can't wait to see 'em on ya." He winked at her. "And take 'em off."

.

~o~o~o~


	5. Night Train Chapter 5

Derivative work, of course.

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Mortified, once again Bella was left speechless and standing like a stump in the side yard, watching Peter tug her little wagon along as he sauntered toward her shed.

Besides noticing he was as attractive from behind as he was from the front … and the T-shirt … she was stuck somewhere between flight and flight. Did she run to the clothesline, grab all of her underwear, and go hide in her room, or did she just make a break for it and hide in her room?

As Peter put away her hat, gloves, and tools, he was softly whistling some song as if he didn't have a care in the world. He hauled the wagon into the shed, still whistling, and gathered up the mulch bags and shoved them all into one.

How did he know she kept the wagon in the shed? Well, it hadn't been on the porch when he was there the night before.

Plastic bags in hand, he stepped out, swung the door closed, latched it, and turned toward her. "Hey, babe, where do you want—?"

Decision made, she bolted for the porch and the back door that led to the compact laundry room, kicking the wicker laundry basket out of her way.

When she made it through the short hall to her room, she slammed the door shut, shoved the chair under the knob, and stood there panting. Thankful her traitorous leg hadn't decided to drop her somewhere along the way, she hid her face in her hands.

"Oh, my God. He said he liked my panties! How long was he out there, in the woods, watching me?" Feeling apprehensive, and more than a little confused by her attraction to him, she reached to the top shelf of the wardrobe and pulled down an old Harley Davidson T-shirt that had belonged to her friend Jacob. If she sniffed hard, she could almost smell the woodsy mix of the pine and cedar fragrance it once held.

A pair of jeans, purple striped socks, and plain white bra and pale lilac panties completed the outfit, and she went into her bathroom. A second later she came back out, locked the bedroom door, and disappeared into the bathroom again.

Mindful that the vampire with the super-hearing might be inside the house, she tried to keep her mumbling to herself as quiet as possible. Living alone, she'd picked up the habit of thinking out loud. It was why she played the radio and her music so often when she was home—background noise. It wasn't needed outside with the birds and bugs singing and chirping. They were company enough.

As she stripped and tossed her clothes into the hamper, and turned on the water, she desperately tried to calm her breathing and heart rate. It didn't help when she heard the screen door slap against the frame.

He was in the house!

 _Deep breath._

He _must_ have done that on purpose. He could have easily gotten in without making any noise.

She tested the water temperature and stepped into the shower.

It wasn't like she'd never been flirted with before. It wasn't even like she was a virgin any longer. Although those couple of half-drunken attempts at sex in college had left her wondering what all the hubbub was about.

She had assumed the guy was a virgin, and hadn't known what the hell he was doing either. Bella was more than a little relieved when … _Jerry Wilson_ … decided to go to a school closer to his own home.

How terrible of a person was she? It took entirely too long to come up with his name. Shouldn't she remember the guy who was her first?

Maybe if they hadn't been drinking, and it hadn't been so … anticlimactic.

Wasn't any better the second time.

Under the drenching spray, she scrubbed at her lather-covered head and then worked conditioner through her hair and to the ends.

Jerry had had dark brown hair that was kind of long and had been a nice-looking boy. They'd met in the library and had hit it off. They'd had a few things in common and enjoyed each other's company. There'd been no butterflies in the stomach, but it had been nice. And that was about the only adjective she could think of—nice.

 _Nice_ wasn't a bad thing, but the relationship had been lacking.

Edward had been so beautiful, and there'd been a definite spark, but had that been because he was _other?_ The first boy to pay that much attention to her? Would she have gone out with Mike, or Tyler, or one of the other students if Edward hadn't been there? She might have. They hadn't been so bad really.

Had she been turned into a vampire then, would she still be with Edward? Never daring to admit it at the time, she had begun to chafe under his overbearing protectiveness, and he'd been unwilling to listen to her. It wasn't that much of a surprise when he threw her aside. She'd expected it all along. Despite being an _unchanging_ being, she was sure she would have gotten fed up with him. More all the time, she was convinced it was _Edward_ who was so parochial and inflexible, and only in particular areas. He'd learned to use telephones and email instead of writing letters long hand with pen and ink, right?

Finished with the shower, she peeked around the shower curtain, confirmed the room was empty, and stepped over the edge of the tub.

Then there was Peter. He'd definitely been flirting and had cranked it up a notch when she hadn't responded. How could she when she knew she was going to die? Despite that, there was something about him that brought to life the spark that had been out for so long.

He'd called her _babe_. What had he meant by that? It was probably just another little endearment like sugar or honey.

And why was she thinking about relationships when all he said he wanted was a few stories?

Because he _had_ been flirting with her.

Maybe that was just _him_.

She couldn't delay any longer. He was out there somewhere—waiting. God knew he could have gotten into her bedroom if he wanted to.

It had only taken her forty-five minutes to wash up, get dressed, and talk herself into leaving her room. Her bed wasn't made, but she probably wouldn't need it anyway. She shoved her feet into her shearling slippers and considered putting her hair in a ponytail, but decided showing too much bare neck wasn't such a good idea. Hair still damp and hanging free, she took the chair from under the doorknob, unlocked it, and stepped out into the short hall. Feeling a bit warm, she bumped the thermostat down a degree.

Cautiously, she looked out toward the living area of the house and there he was, sitting at her table in the same seat as before, smiling as if he hadn't seen her in years.

"It's about your dinner time, right?" he asked. "Why don't ya fix yourself somethin' to eat."

"Y-you remember about humans needing to eat?" The slippers scuffed softly across the floor as she made her way to the refrigerator.

"Of course," he scoffed. He leaned back in the chair and draped his arm over the back like he'd done before. "You humans are _always_ eatin', thinkin' about what to eat, buyin' food to eat, fixin' food to eat. It's a wonder ya get anything else done at all."

He had a point, and she _was_ hungry. It had been hours since she had a couple hard boiled eggs for breakfast.

"It's just that those other vampires had to remind each other that I needed to." Poking around in the refrigerator, a turkey, swiss, and cucumber slice sandwich would hit the spot. It would make a good last meal.

Did she just …?

Before she could chastise herself for making a lame joke, even if it was only in her own head, Peter's slightly rough voice broke through.

"Then they were morons." Peter wrinkled his nose. "Or they were tryin' to be cute. No need for that. The boy pretended to go to school and never noticed the kids eatin' breakfast and lunch? Every damn day?"

Peter was right. Vampires were supposed to have photographic memories and they couldn't remember she had needed to eat regularly? Especially vampires who prided themselves on fitting in so well with the humans?

After piling on the cucumber, she took a bite while still standing at the island. She felt a little better keeping it between them for the time being. If she recalled correctly, it had always been Edward and Alice that made a show of telling her how they remembered it was meal time.

It really _wasn't_ cute.

"So, uh, you know human habits and …?" Bella asked after she cleared her mouthful.

"Successful predators study their prey—know their behaviors and such," he answered with a flat tone.

Wide eyed, Bella tore into her sandwich. If she hadn't wanted to know the truth, she shouldn't have asked, and that sounded like the absolute truth to her.

She noticed Peter didn't make any disgusted faces while she was eating. Maybe it was time to change the subject. "You know, they always used to say how revolting food smelled. Is it bothering you?"

"No, sugar." Peter just raised one eyebrow and sighed. "Rotten or dead things smell revoltin'. They were exaggeratin' for drama's sake. Did they ever compare your scent to any kind of food?"

Halting mid-chew, Bella just blinked at him. Edward had said she smelled like strawberries and she smelled good. Strawberries were food. That brought a scowl to her face.

She wondered what she smelled like to Peter.

Avoiding looking directly at him while she resumed stuffing her face—she must look like a cow chewing its cud and she didn't care—she spotted her phone on the low, rustic coffee table in the living room, right where she'd left it the day before. She should have called her parents instead of spending most of the day outside—at least Charlie. But he would have asked her what was wrong since she didn't usually call him on Saturdays. That was when he went fishing.

If she was going to disappear, it was better it just happen. There was no sense in upsetting her mom and dad with an out-of-the-blue phone call. There wasn't any way she could let them know what was going on. She couldn't tell them goodbye. There were too many notes and documents in her house listing Charlie and Renee as her parents. There was her address book, the old-fashioned paper kind, with her school contacts and friends back in Forks. Peter wouldn't have any trouble looking any of them up if he wanted to.

The first sandwich was gone before she knew it. Starving, she needed more. While putting together and devouring another, she struggled to push the anxieties out of her mind. She hadn't told anyone about the Cullens—besides the wolves on the Reservation. Her parents and old friends would be fine. The people of Newport, Tennessee would be all right.

She'd lived an interesting life, even though it had been a short one, and, overall, it had been pretty good. She had faced down a vampire that wanted her dead, she could do it again. Though there wasn't a coven of others coming to save her.

Chewing the last bit of turkey and cucumber, she squared her shoulders and chose to meet her end as bravely as possible.

Trying to find some sort of silver lining, having the stunningly handsome vampire, in the almost too tight T-shirt, and sitting at her kitchen table, as the last thing she saw before the end wasn't such a bad way to go.

Full at last, Bella put everything away, washed her plate and knife, and wiped the counter. She reached for the refrigerator to get a glass of iced tea and paused before grabbing the handle. The photo of Charlie sitting on her porch with a cup of coffee caught her attention. She'd taken the picture the summer before when he had been there. Her throat closed up on her and the sting of tears behind her eyes burned.

She'd tried to make light of it all, but she couldn't any more. She'd never hear another accounting of her mother's bizarre adventures. No more the-one-that-got-away stories or La Push gossip from her father. No more boxes of Conversation Hearts from Jacob on Valentine's Day. He'd sent her one every year. She still had them all.

At the school, she was just a librarian—certainly replaceable—but would any of the kids miss her? Would they even remember her? She hoped a few would.

When she was gone, her parents would meet one last time to settle her estate—dispose of her belongings—and that would be the end of Bella Swan.

Pressing her hands against the cool metal, she forced herself to take a deep breath and gain control of the storm of emotions that were suddenly swirling within. She had known the day was coming. She'd always envisioned the wild red-head finding her and ripping her throat out. Or maybe she had naively hoped it would be over that quickly. She didn't want to think beyond that or about what Victoria could do to make her suffer. Her breath caught and she tried to swallow the thick lump in her throat

"Sugar. Bella."

Peter's low voice, coming from right by her elbow, startled her and she gasped. The Cullens had all had such musical voices, it was odd how Peter's had such a rough edge—even when he was speaking so softly.

He was on one knee, looking up at her, searching her face. His eyebrows were drawn together with worry. The deep red of his eyes, that should have struck fear in her heart, were shining with venom as if he was holding back tears of his own. She waited for the sight of them to freeze her very soul as James' had done. They didn't.

Peter reached for her right hand and held it between both of his. "Why are you cryin'?"

She hadn't realized tears had escaped and trailed down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away with her free hand, and blinked rapidly to dispel any more. After another deep breath, she looked squarely into the warm garnet of Peter's eyes.

"I-I'm going to tell you about the scar and then … and then you're going to kill me." She swallowed again. "I was thinking about my parents and how they would have to … dispose of all my stuff. I'll be gone and all that will be left is a bunch of books and music and— and it's probably a good thing I never got around to getting a pet because what would happen to him?" Covering her eyes with her hand, she lowered her head. "I-I knew this day would come. The supernatural would catch up with me. I know there are rules about humans knowing the _secret_. I thought I was prepared." She sank to the floor, her hand still in Peter's, and sagged against the refrigerator. She tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm not," she admitted. Her gaze lowered to his and she was struck again by how soulful and compassionate the crimson eyes of a killer could be. Or was that just another vampire trick?

"With some help from my parents, everything here is my little piece of the world." Bella glanced at their joined hands and then up to his handsome face. She pulled her hand away and gestured vaguely around the room. "It isn't much, but I worked for it and paid for it. Except for the house and the truck—still making payments on those."

Hands dropping to her lap, she sat up straight and looked defiantly into his handsome face. So much of her life had been ruled by vampires or the threat of them. Hadn't she declined friendly, simple invitations from her fellow teachers so she wouldn't be seen getting close to anyone, just in case? How many other little pleasures of life had she missed out on because of the threat hanging over her? There was always a chance her father could be collateral damage when he came to visit her, but she was selfish and had needed to see him. She had stayed away from Forks so she wouldn't draw attention to him there.

A tiny flame of resentment and ire ignited deep within her. So what if she made Peter angry? With dying, she lost everything anyway. What else did she have to lose? "It's not much of a life, but it's _mine_. I built it myself, bucko, and I …" The tears she'd been holding back fell and doused that meager flicker. Words jammed in her throat and she gulped, trying to ease the ache that over took her. "Is that so hard for you to understand, Peter?" Her voice was a strained whimper.

"No, it isn't. Please don't cry." Peter sat down on the floor in front of her and reached for her hands. "May I?" At the barely perceptible nod, he took both of hers in his. "I'll speak plainly since my feeble attempts at flirtin' have failed miserably."

Inhaling deeply, he inched a little closer. "From the first moment I caught your scent, Bella, I wanted to meet ya. I _had_ to. Honestly, wantin' to drain you was just a passin' thought." He shrugged apologetically. "I knew I was goin' to change ya. I didn't care who you were or what you looked like. I _knew_ you'd be special to me."

Bella listened with only half an ear, her head bowed, eyes closed, and face turned away. She'd heard similar declarations before—wasn't that what vampires did? Promise the moon and stars and then rip it all away? He'd offered her the courtesy of not interrupting, unlike some others. She would do the same for him.

"Then I got a look at ya. You sure were a pretty thing—moonlight shinin' in your hair and glistenin' off the pistol you had pointed at me. The holster and gun belt sealed the deal. Almost bit ya right then and there in that field with the trains goin' by."

Was he trying to make jokes? At a time like that? She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. His worried frown had deepened and it almost looked as if he was anxious or afraid.

What did he possibly have to be afraid of?

The seconds ticked by. Bella watched wordlessly as Peter grew more uncomfortable the longer the silence stretched out.

He started running the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her fingers.

Why was he dragging it out? What was he waiting for? Was it part of his game? She ran through what he had said. He'd said he had _almost_ bitten her in the field.

Was he waiting for her to ask him why? She couldn't help wondering what his excuse would be.

Cynically, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Why _didn't_ you bite me then?"

Astonishingly, Peter's tense features smoothed out in what Bella could only describe as relief. Like he was so glad she finally asked.

He let out a nervous little cough. "I really _do_ like watchin' the trains. It's calmin' and peaceful. It's nice to have somebody to watch 'em with." He lowered his head and peered up at her. "You screamin' and yellin' woulda ruined the mood."

.

~o~o~o~


	6. Night Train Chapter 6

Derivative work. Like you didn't know that.

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~o~o~o~

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"Ruined the mood?" Bella snatched her hands from his and climbed awkwardly to her feet, steadying herself against the cupboards. Hand braced on the top, she scrambled around the island, and away from Peter, to the opposite side of the L-shaped kitchen area and yanked open the drawer at the end of the counter.

Grumbling heatedly to herself, Bella rummaged through it, and pulled out a screwdriver, a pink-handled mini-hammer, and a roll of duct tape, slapping each down on the counter. A little rectangular Tupperware container rattled as it hit the floor. The top had "keys" scrawled across it.

A ball of string bounced and went rolling into the living room.

"What's that you're lookin' for, sugar?" Peter asked from behind her. Still on the floor between the work island, and the refrigerator and stove, he'd twisted around so he could see what she was doing.

"Here it is!" Bella spun toward him, hair flying around her shoulders. A shiny, chromed pistol was aimed right at him.

Watching her every move, Peter rose warily to his feet, one hand extended toward her.

"Uh, you know those don't work on us." Peter gestured at himself. "Bullet proof. The most you could do with that is put a hole in my shirt."

"Oh, yeah?" She pulled the trigger and a six-inch flame shot out the barrel.

Half scared out of her mind, half determined to fight to her very last breath, Bella was pleased to see her grip was rock steady.

Peter's eyebrows crept up his forehead in astonishment. Speechless for several long seconds, he considered her thoughtfully, his eyes taking on a bright gleam.

Fingers spread wide, he extended both hands, palms facing her. "Where'd you get that, sugar?"

"My friend Jacob gave it to me when I got my gun permit. He said I probably needed a flame thrower, but it was the best he could do. It was a joke. Ha ha," she explained in a rush, tone flat and humorless. She shuffled stiffly backwards until she bumped into the drawer, shutting it. "I know your venom is flammable."

Peter's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You'd have to get to it first," he replied, his voice low and smooth. "Ya sure ya wanna do that?"

Bella shook her head, never taking her eyes off him. "I-I don't want to hurt you, Peter, but I—"

The narrow jet of fire sputtered and died, and Bella's mouth dropped open. She held the pistol upright and stared in disappointed shock at the end of the barrel. She pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Snapping her mouth shut, she pointed it at Peter and tried again. The impotent clicks echoed sharply throughout the room.

After shaking it vigorously and pulling the trigger again, with no results, she blinked a few times, pressed her lips tightly together, and exhaled slowly through her nose. "I only used it a couple times to light candles and to start the fire in the pit out back."

Her shoulders slumped and she folded in on herself, the fake gun lowering in slow motion.

Stretching his arm to the limit, Peter delicately plucked the novelty lighter from her grasp and placed it as far from her as he could on the opposite end of the counter.

The last of the iron will that had held her up melted away and her strength was gone. She slid to the floor for the second time, the back of her head thumping against the cupboard. She drew her knees up and closed her eyes. "You aren't going to say something about me being foolish or silly?"

"No. There's nothin' foolish or silly about ya. Like ya said, you can take care of yourself."

He sounded so close, Bella cracked open an eye. Peter was crouched on the floor right in front of her. Like before, he looked troubled and anxious. Why? All out of options for anything she could possibly use as a weapon against him, she was at his mercy.

"But not against a vampire," she whispered, defeated. She squeezed her eyes closed and rested her arms on her knees.

"No, not against a vampire," he agreed sadly. He cleared his throat and inched closer. "Bella, I guess I'm not speakin' plain enough. Or you aren't hearin' what I'm sayin'."

Her eyes snapped open when his cool fingertips traced faint lines from her elbow to her wrist.

"I told ya, from the first moment I smelled ya, I didn't care who you were, I had to meet ya. I _needed_ to. I couldn't stay away." He swallowed thickly. "The more I learned about ya, the more I _wanted_ to know." With one fingertip, he traced the scar on her wrist and then encircled it with his large hand, hiding it from view. "There ain't many in this world with the balls to stand up to me like you just did." He blew out a breath. "Just like I knew you were, you're a fighter. The more I see and hear, the more I know I want to be with you."

A couple other vampires had said they wanted to be with her. When she tried to pull her hand away, Peter wouldn't let go. "You want to be _with_ me?" Scorn dripped from her words. "I've heard _that_ before, too. One said he loved me, the other claimed I was her best friend. Vampires lie."

An instant of hurt flashed across his face. "I know you don't know me from Adam, but I ain't lyin' to ya, sugar. Here. Stand up." He tugged her to her feet and led her over to the table, directing her to the seat with the full view of the rooms. "I know that's your regular spot. Your scent is strongest on that one." He took his hat from the chair next to her, tossed it onto the coffee table in the living room and sat down, taking her right hand again. His eyes were shiny with venom. "Vampires can and do lie, but I ain't lyin' about this. I guess all I can do is show ya I mean what I say."

"Mean what you say? Like when you said you wanted to change me?"

"So you _did_ hear that."

"Yeah, I did, and here I am—still human. So you lied. Or …" she raised her head and peered down her nose at him suspiciously, "you don't want to because you believe that would damn my human soul to Hell."

The soft red of his eyes took on a hard edge. "After I got turned into this, I didn't believe in nothin' but my own self and my sire, sugar." He glanced away and shook his head. "And I don't know if _he's_ worth believin' in anymore. Haven't talked to him in a while." He took a deep breath and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I know he ain't worth the waste of breath right now."

Peter scooted his chair a little to face her squarely. "I didn't lie about wantin' to change ya to be like me, but I found I wanted to know more about ya. The more ya talked the more I wanted to know. You survived meetin' vampires. That's a story I wanna hear, and you might forget it durin' the burn. _You_ might, but _I'll_ remember. Tell me everything. I'll remember it all for you."

In a movement too quick for her to follow, Peter was on one knee beside her, pressing her hand to the center of his chest. His words came faster, taking on more urgency. "Those vampires lied to you. I think they nearly destroyed you, but you didn't give up. You scraped their shit off, got back on your feet, and made a life for yourself. A life I wanna be part of."

Reticently, as if afraid she'd refuse; he reached forward with his right hand and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "I'm askin' if you'll let me share it. My life now ain't so bad, but it would be so much better with you in it."

His eyes, his voice, his very posture—everything about him—was pleading with her to allow him in, and, against her better judgment, a tiny seed of compassion sprouted within her.

Until she vehemently squashed it.

Despite her doubt, his touch was welcome and oddly comforting. It felt good … right. She could still feel the feather light kiss on her hand from when they'd met the night before. As much as she relished the contact, almost craving the physical connection with him, she turned her face away. A single tear spilled down the cheek where the sensation of his touch still lingered.

He sounded so sincere, but how could she trust anything he said? She had believed the others had cared and they'd all left without a trace. Perhaps she had read more into it than was actually there, naively trusting Edward's extravagantly poetic, but empty, proclamations of devotion, and Alice's enthusiastic declarations of undying friendship.

Their utter indifference to her feelings and opinions, and their desertion, had spoken louder than any words they'd used. She definitely got the message about what they really thought of her—loud and clear.

Edward's piety and fear for her soul had been just another act in his performance.

 _Well, ye shall know them by their fruits and all that._

Their _fruits_ had practically spoiled the whole barrel. She had to try and remember Peter was not Edward Cullen. Was she willing to give him a chance?

Actions _did_ speak louder than words, and Peter's, so far, had been nearly diametrically opposed to theirs. He'd whined a little about the size of her truck, but he hadn't tried to talk her into getting rid of it or offered to replace it with something _he_ thought was better.

He hadn't brazenly insinuated himself into her every waking, and sleeping, moment. As far as she could tell, he hadn't even been in the house until she allowed it.

He hadn't said, or even implied, her choice of wardrobe, house, job … _food_ … were less than adequate or not up to the correct standard.

He hadn't swept into her life like a tornado and tried to take over and change everything about her.

He _asked_.

He'd asked to _share_.

The Cullens, Edward and Alice especially, had seemed like a fantasy beyond her wildest dreams. It had all been surreal.

Peter had been coarse and a bit crude … more than a little suggestive. Slightly arrogant, but without tearing anyone else down. He hadn't tried to impress her with pretentious, flowery speech, grandiose promises, or lavish spending.

She peeked at him through her lashes and took the time to really examine his clothes. His T-shirt was thin, like he'd had it a long time. She'd noticed earlier his jeans were Wranglers. They were a little dirty, the bottom hems were frayed, and they were faded from repeated wear and washings—not strategically applied chemicals. He probably even wore his clothes more than once. His boots were broken in and well worn. They might even be his favorites.

He reminded her more of the nomads than the Cullens. Anyone would think they were models who'd just stepped off the runway. You didn't dress like that in Forks, Washington and expect to be inconspicuous.

The front the Cullens showed the world was an improbable fairy tale.

Peter was _real_.

He _had_ told her he wanted to change her into a vampire. Edward never had. Did she even want that? Did she even have a choice? She looked down at the scar on her wrist, her hand still enveloped in Peter's.

Logically, no. If Peter just disappeared, as a human, she'd spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder and alone. She wouldn't want to subject anyone else to her bizarre, and deadly, burden.

Maybe the only choice was to step forward boldly instead of with the attitude she was giving up. Look at it as an opportunity to stand up to the supernatural rather than sitting around and waiting for the supernatural to obliterate her.

When she had spoken, Peter hadn't brushed off anything she'd said. He hadn't even interrupted her. He had patiently waited for her to continue—just as he was at that moment. No demands, no arguments, no childish wheedling—just waiting.

She _had_ been lonely.

It certainly didn't hurt that he was rather attractive.

Her silent regard followed the sinewy muscles of his arm until her gaze met his.

Again, she was struck by how kind and gentle deep red eyes could be. Was that hope, and maybe some expectation, she saw in their jeweled depths?

Could she take a chance on him? If he turned her—if she didn't actually die—and he left her on her own, she vowed she would figure out how to survive, and she would track him down and beat his ass. It didn't matter how long it took.

If she died, she wouldn't be around to care would she?

With another quick look at the silvery, hardened scar on her arm, a flicker of anger reignited within her. Finding that animal-drinking coven just got shoved to the top of her list. Maybe she'd have a chance at putting Edward in her sights and pulling the trigger. It wouldn't kill him, but it would send a message.

Peter must have sensed the subtle change. He raised her hand to his lips, his eyes sliding shut. His deep voice was barely more than a breath. "Since I met ya, Bella, my mind has been all tangled up. All I can think about is how much I want you. How much I want _you_ to want _me_. I'll do anythin' you want me to. Except leave you. I ain't ever leav—"

"Don't," she warned, reluctantly removing her hand from his and holding one finger up in front of his face. "Don't make promises you're not going to keep."

He just blinked at her. "I don't, sugar."

"Huh," she grunted, raising a skeptical brow. "There are a few conditions."

"And those would be?" The faint crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepened and the dark red glinted with challenge.

"You said you _want_ to turn me into a vampire."

"Yeah. I do."

"Summer school starts in two weeks, and my dad will be here for a week in August before the regular school year starts." She stood slowly from the table, mainly so she wouldn't fall over him, he was so close. She carefully stepped around him and strode to the refrigerator for a glass of iced tea. She could put everything back into the junk drawer later. Maybe she'd find some butane and refill the pistol.

After draining the first glassful—she was so thirsty—she poured some more and turned, setting the glass down on the island. "After Dad leaves, you can do it then."

He rose from his kneeling position and stalked toward her, the hint of a smile lighting his face. Keeping the island between them, he leaned forward, one eyebrow creeping up. "Anything else, ma'am?"

"Y-yes." Her shot of confidence wavered under his intense scrutiny. Such beautiful red eyes. They were perfect for him. She inhaled deeply, breathing him in. Catching herself before she could fall under his spell, she suddenly found the condensation forming on the tea glass fascinating. "I want to be able to keep my house, and …"

"And?" His smile grew as he leaned in closer.

Before she lost all her nerve, the words came tumbling out. "I'm _keeping_ my truck." Her eyes flicked up to his and back to the water ring on the countertop.

Planting both hands on the work island, he lifted himself just enough to reach her as he bent over it. Unhurriedly moving in, his smirking lips barely touching her cheek, he whispered huskily in her ear, "Babe, I don't care what you drive, as long as I get to ride shotgun."

.

~o~o~o~


	7. Night Train Chapter 7

A/N: I've signed up as a writer for the Fandom Against Domestic Violence fundraiser. Not sure If I'm going to try and write a Twilight, a crossover, or what, just yet.

They're looking for more folks to write, create banners, and donate to the cause, of course. Sign ups close 09/01/2016. There'll be a compilation of stories. For a $10.00 US donation, you can get a copy of the compilation.

Presently, there are over twenty writers signed up.

For more information on how to sign up, or make a donation to get the compilation, google:

Fundraisers * fanaticfanfics * com

Take out the spaces and the * and add a .

They also have a Facebook page.

* * *

Derivative work.

* * *

~o~o~o~

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Easing away from her, Peter's not-quite beard tickled Bella's cheek. The only experience she'd ever had with a man's facial hair was when her mustachioed dad kissed her cheek or forehead.

She wondered what kissing Peter would be like. Would it be scratchy? The hairs brushing over her skin weren't wiry like she would have expected.

Why did vampires have such perfectly silky hair? Not that she had touched anyone's but Edward's. No, she had felt Esme's hair during a hug. It had been soft, too. Did they all have hair like that? And Peter had been the only one she'd seen with any kind of facial hair. Not that she'd seen a lot of vampires.

It was supremely difficult, but she resisted the sudden impulse to reach up and stroke his face by ordering her hand to her iced tea.

The knowing glint in his eyes made her wonder if he could read her mind.

She actually thought if he could he would have come right out and told her.

He was so close; she could feel his faint exhalations. His eyes weren't just one shade of red. There was a slightly darker starburst in the center of each.

Realizing she was leaning closer to him, as if he were a magnet and she was a brainless lump of steel, she stood up straight and spun toward the sink to grab the dish rag. "Uh, would you like to go sit in the living room?" she asked, wiping up the water on the counter and gesturing toward the small living room.

He backed away from her, the corner of his mouth lifted in a not-quite smirk, eyes sparkling with humor. "Sure, sugar." He gave the counter a couple of taps. "Unless you want to go watch some trains?"

Even with an afternoon nap, she still felt as limp as the dish rag in her hand. The dreams—nightmares—the night before, and the emotional upheaval in her kitchen, had left her feeling washed out.

"I'm really kind of tired. I-I didn't sleep well last night." Her back to him, she folded the cloth and draped it over the faucet, dawdling long enough to see where he would decide to sit.

Relieved when he chose the recliner, she headed for the loveseat near it, placed her glass on the coaster on the coffee table, and dropped onto the cushions. She kicked off her slippers, pulled her legs up, and slumped against the thickly padded arm, propping her head on her left hand.

"You mentioned school startin'. Are you a teacher?" Peter extended the footrest, crossed one ankle over the other, and clasped his hands behind his head.

The way his T-shirt stretched over his chest, and the smooth bulge of his biceps, held her attention for entirely too long. "Uh, I'm a librarian at Bridgeport Elementary. I love books. It struck me that I wanted to share that, and I thought the best place to start would be with young people." To keep her attention from lingering in any one location along his lengthy body, she forced herself to look out toward the kitchen. "My mom was a kindergarten teacher for years. I thought I might be a teacher one day, but I just couldn't see myself in a classroom, trying to teach something to twenty or so kids."

Her current position gave him a nice shot of her rear end. She probably should have sat on the other side of the loveseat, but that would have been a little close. Even with the end table there, he'd probably be touching her. He hadn't been rude about it, but he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. She picked at the hem of the oversized shirt and tugged it down over her butt.

Shoving her furniture to the center of the living room so she could have bookshelves covering just about every wall made quite the intimate seating area. Maybe a little too intimate.

Forcing herself to look anywhere but _at_ the completely relaxed vampire, sprawling over the chair her dad usually sat in when he visited, she gulped and carried on.

"I do better one-on-one," Bella continued. Feeling self-conscious, she pulled her legs up a little tighter and shoved her toes between the cushions.

"What made ya decide to do that?" Peter asked quietly. "I mean, I noticed you like books …" He waved his hand, indicating the full bookshelves behind him and surrounding the flat screen on the wall across from him. "And music."

With a slight shrug, she replied, "Well, every song is a story."

She felt a small twinge of … it wasn't nostalgia exactly. Melancholy? Wistfulness? After Edward, she'd stopped listening to music altogether, but she had missed it—missed all the little stories each song spoke about, even the love-done-me-wrong songs, and decided Edward wasn't going to ruin that for her, too.

Since moving to Newport, her library, musical and otherwise, had expanded quite a bit.

Thinking about her relocation across the country always brought Emmett to mind.

Emmett McCarty-Cullen—or was it Cullen-McCarty?—had been a part of the very complicated past and there were times she missed him, too.

It was one day at the Forks public library where she was struck with what she thought she wanted to do. A little boy with dark hair and dimples had been complaining that he hated to read, it was boring, and he wanted to go outside and play. Bella peeked around a tall stack, and the small child dressed in a Mariners ball cap and team shirt reminded her so much of Emmett she almost burst into tears.

She'd gotten a grip on herself, approached the little guy, and asked him who his favorite ball player was.

"Shin-Soo Choo," he'd said with a sniffle.

Naturally, Bella didn't recognize the name, but then she asked, "Why do you like him?"

With a wide, gap-toothed grin, he announced proudly, hand waving in the air, "He's left handed just like me!"

Bella knelt down and took hold of the wildly waving appendage before she got smacked in the face. "I bet we can find a book about him."

The little fellow's excitement in learning about his baseball hero, and being able to find out even more, warmed Bella's heart. It made her wonder why no one else had ever thought to encourage his reading in that way.

Although she never saw herself with children of her own, she enjoyed helping them discover a whole new world at their fingertips. The internet and e-books were great, but there was something almost magical about the weight and feel of an actual book. And she finally realized why her mother had been drawn to young children. They were so much more open to the wonders of words printed with ink on actual paper.

The coincidence of that little boy, and how he had tugged at her heart strings, prompted her to research Emmett's home state of Tennessee.

Wandering through the internet one afternoon, she happened to look through open positions at elementary schools. She stumbled upon a nearby house for sale. It was little and cute, and the name of the road had cracked her up.

In a round-about way, she could thank Emmett for leading her to being a librarian, finding a home in Tennessee … and meeting Peter. Although the jury was still out on that part.

Glancing guiltily at Peter for getting lost in her memories, she saw he had raised the back of the recliner.

"You okay, sugar?"

Feeling the familiar ache in her jaw from clenching her teeth, she forced herself to relax. "Yeah. Just an old memory popped up." She nervously rubbed at her thigh. "Um, one day in the library, I helped a little boy find out more about his favorite baseball player. He was so cute and so excited, running back and forth, grabbing books that were almost too heavy for him and lugging them to one of the tables. I helped create a brand new book lover."

Another old memory intruded. Her fist tightened on a handful of T-shirt as she tried to shove it away. Funny how so many things Edward had said, and presumed about what _he_ thought she should want, flooded her with anger all over again.

Peter snapped the footrest back into place and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What's got you riled up again, sugar?"

"He … that _jerk_ —" She clamped her mouth shut and covered her eyes with her hand, body rigid against the plush arm of the loveseat. _Edward_ wanted her to live a normal _human_ life. He mentioned her having children so often, apparently barefoot and pregnant was his preferred version. His actions, and inaction, made sure it would never happen. Even if she'd wanted a family, she wouldn't dare with a vengeful vampire still out there. How stupid would she be to have babies?

Jasper had been right when he'd said they should have killed them all. Listening to Edward, and leaving Victoria and Laurent alive, had worked out so well.

And why would Edward assume, just because she was female, that she would _want_ to have kids? It was yet another in a long list of examples of him not listening to anything she said.

It was also kind of funny how she had stopped thinking of Victoria as _crazy_. When someone has screwed up your life, was it wrong to let them know what a bad idea that was?

Would Edward even find out if, or _when_ , Victoria got to her? If he didn't, what would be the point? Unless the vengeful witch had a plan to hunt him down next and fill him in. How would she prove it? Some sort of souvenir? Would she scalp her?

Shuddering, Bella heaved herself up off the couch, snatched up her glass of iced tea, and stomped into the kitchen. She rarely drank, but she needed one right then.

All she had was a bottle of Jack Daniels and it was in the cupboard above the stove—right where she'd left it after her dad's last visit. They'd only had a couple of drinks out of it, but it had made sitting around the fire pit fun.

She couldn't reach it, of course.

She turned to get the folding step stool out of the laundry room and Peter was blocking her.

"The Jack Daniels? I'll get it for ya, sugar."

He was so close, and so tall, and he smelled so good. She could only gawk at him as he poured a finger's width into her tea, and then reached into the silverware drawer for a spoon to stir it.

"Mind if I have one?"

"No. Uh, what?"

Bella continued to stand there, mouth open in shock, as he pulled a coffee mug out of the cupboard and splashed some of the amber liquid into it.

Mug in one hand, he picked up her drink, walked slowly back into the living room, and placed them both on the coffee table.

There was her chance to get another look at his back pockets and her mind wasn't lucid enough to appreciate it.

By the time her brain finally clunked into gear, Peter was sitting on the left side of the loveseat, boots off, and huge sock feet propped on the low table. Apparently he liked those grey work socks.

He'd moved his hat and a coaster to the end table to his right and had turned on the lamp.

In a daze, Bella shuffled back into the living room. "You … you can drink? Alcohol, I mean?"

He took a sip from his mug, and set it aside. "Only the clear ones. The milky and fruity stuff is too much like food."

"You have to throw it up later," Bella finished for him as she dropped onto the right cushion and grabbed her glass. She took a deep pull and set it back down with a thump.

She didn't even cough that time.

"You know some stuff about vampires," Peter graced her with a pleased smile, "but there's lots more you don't." Taking another sip, he smacked his lips and settled down into the plush cushion with a sigh.

He looked as relaxed as a cat in a sunny window, but he was even closer than he'd been before. Did vampires have _no_ sense of personal space? She suddenly regretted not buying a full-sized sofa. At the time, she hadn't because storage for her books, and room for more, had been the most important consideration—not seating for guests she wasn't going to have. She curled herself into a tight ball and tucked her feet in between the cushions again.

Peter tapped her sock-clad ankle with one finger, and then began idly tracing over her ankle and the top of her foot. "So how 'bout that scar?"

To give herself a moment, she took another long drink. The liquor in her belly combined with the heat of the anger that still simmered there. "Essentially, what happened was a nomad bit me and, instead of allowing me to turn into a vampire, my date decided to _save_ me from eternal damnation. He sucked the venom back out."

Peter's finger stilled for a moment, but started again, with the addition of another fingertip. The circles and swirls he was drawing were oddly soothing. Bella didn't think he was impinging on her personal space so much as he was trying to comfort or encourage her.

She let out a weary breath and laid her head down on the padded arm of the small couch. "It's kind of involved and one thing leads into another."

His voice was soft and low. "I got time, sugar. All the time you need."

"The _boy_ …" Bella said, emphasizing the word. A slim ribbon of amusement worked its way through the lingering anger. Peter's reference to Edward was so apt. "The _boy_ and his coven pretended to be a family—two parents and five foster children who went to high school. They said a cover story like that allowed them to stay in one place longer. They'd been there a couple of years before I moved back."

"Five full-grown vampires goin' to high school with a buncha human younguns?" Peter looked Heavenward as he shook his head slowly back and forth.

Bella almost chuckled at the look of disgust on Peter's face. "At the baseball game I told you about, a group of three nomads showed up. They heard us … well, heard _them_ since I wasn't actually playing. In thinking about it since then, the _boy_ had time to get me out of there, but … I don't know. I guess he was in shock or something." She shrugged. "Not being able to hide my scent or my heartbeat, the nomads knew I was human. They thought I was a snack."

"Tasty-smelling human like you? A snack?" Peter murmured. "Go figure."

"Right?" Bella agreed. "The leader, James, decided he was going to _hunt_ me. He was some kind of tracker." She shifted a bit to fold her arms over the soft upholstery and rested her head on her elbow.

"This _boy_ got a name by any chance?"

Bella caught the unusual strain in Peter's voice and, though he hadn't removed his hand, the gentle stroking of her foot had ceased. She chanced a glance and saw his head tilted back and his eyes squeezed shut like he had a headache.

Puzzled at the strange behavior, Bella just nodded. "Um, yeah. His name was Edward. His sisters were Alice and Rosalie, and the brothers were Emmett and Jasper. Carlisle and Esme were the parents, though they didn't look much older than the kids. Everybody used to wonder why such a young couple would take on five teenagers."

"Those _teeny boppers_ shoulda burned those nomads right then and there." His left hand slipped around both her feet, and with his right he covered his face and groaned as if he was in pain.

" _Je_ -sus Christ," he grumbled.

"What's the matter?" Concerned about him, Bella patted his arm. "Does something hurt?" She didn't think vampires could have migraines, but she really didn't know much about them. She couldn't exactly trust anything Edward had said.

Fingers splayed over his face, Peter finally peeked at her, his burgundy eyes darkening. "I'm ashamed to say I _know_ those stupid-ass teeny boppers."

.

~o~o~o~


	8. Night Train Chapter 8

Derivative work. No money is made. By me.

* * *

~o~o~o~

.

"You … what?" Bella stared in stunned disbelief at the blond vampire. And, God help her, she couldn't think of one single thing to say. Her poor, overloaded brain had shut down.

He wasn't anything like them. How could he know them?

She needed another drink. Plucking Peter's hand from her feet and placing it on his own thigh, she hauled herself up from the squishy cushions. Wobbling a bit, she steadied herself against the coffee table so she could get hold of her glass without spilling it all over the floor.

Once she finally made it to the kitchen, she poured a bit more of the golden amber liquor into her glass and gazed absently out the window above the sink while she waited for some sort of order to reassert itself in the chaos of her mind.

The sun was going down. The few clouds she could see above the trees were nearly the same color as the whiskey, which was almost the same color as the eyes of the animal-drinking coven. She'd never noticed before.

Both had a way of messing with your head.

When she reached for the refrigerator to get more ice, she saw Peter had followed her and was leaning on the far side of the island, one finger sliding up and down the side of his mug. Did some part of him always have to be in motion? When his fingers weren't moving, were his toes wiggling inside his boots?

Bella set the fifth of Jack Daniels in front of him and then dug some ice out of the freezer. In the weighty silence, the half-moon cubes tinkled loudly when she dropped them into the adulterated tea. Feeling a little dizzy—she didn't know if it was from his revelation or the alcohol—she propped her elbows on the counter opposite him and looked directly into the deep wine of his eyes. "Uh, small world, huh?"

He nodded cautiously, no trace of humor on his handsome face. If anything, he appeared wary.

Pointing one finger at him, she advised him, "Ooookay. I think you got some s'plainin' to do, and don't lie to me, Peter." She took a long drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I've had enough of that from vampires."

"No, ma'am," he assured her. One eyebrow rose. "Ain't it _Lucy_ that's supposed to do the s'plainin' to Ricky?"

Was he just another one playing games with the human? She shook her finger at him. "Only when Lucy was trying to hide things from Ricky, and I haven't hidden anything. I've _been_ explaining, and don't call me Lucy."

"But you called me _Bucko_." The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

"You look like a Buck." Bella shrugged and leaned heavily on the counter. " _Buck_ ," she teased with a grin. "I like that name for you. You are hereby and henceforth known as Buck-the-Vampire." She gave him a sharp nod and almost giggled.

She waved her hand in the air and shook her head, and then flipped her hair over her shoulders, her face taking on a somber cast. "Quit changing the subject. This is serious."

"Oh, I'm well aware. I'd like to mention that I wasn't the one—"

"Did you know who I was the entire time?" Bella squinted at him, attempted a scowl, and only swayed a little bit.

"No, ma'am, I didn't," Peter answered earnestly.

Skeptically, Bella studied him. Alice had promised to always tell her the truth, but that only worked if Bella happened to ask the right question, and if Edward didn't happen to be around. Other times, Alice would dance away with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye, claiming she didn't want to change the outcome of whatever she allegedly saw.

Right. Alice just didn't want to change the outcome _she_ thought was best, regardless of what other people, or humans, thought—if she'd actually seen anything at all.

Bella realized her questions had to be worded carefully. If only she'd known that when she had first met them all.

For some reason, that jostled loose another fragment of memory. Of Edward following her to Port Angeles when she'd gone shopping with Jessica and Angela because he'd been concerned about some human-drinking guests. Ironically, he'd saved her from predatory _humans_ at the time.

"You're _that_ Peter!" she exclaimed, slapping the counter. "The red-eyed monster who didn't know how to control himself!" Next, her fist thudded on the counter. "Jasper's friend. Right?"

Without giving Peter a chance to answer, Bella whirled around, lost her balance, and threw her hand out to brace against the refrigerator. "Not long after we first met, Edward followed me to Port Angeles because you and … and … _Carol?..._ were coming to visit Jasper, and Edward thought you were going to kill me because, well, why wouldn't you? Human drinkers have absolutely no control over themselves, and my blood's totally irresistible, and he started calling me a _danger_ _magnet_. Weird how nothing like that ever happened until _after_ I met him." She walked unsteadily toward the table and trudged back. "It happened to work out because Edward saved me from some dirtballs who were probably going to rape me because I got lost, but they were _human_ —no lurking vampires but Edward. Which was a good thing after all," she admitted.

After taking another drink, she slammed down her glass and continued pacing around the kitchen, her arms waving wildly. "That's when I found out he could read everybody's mind except for mine, and he was stalking me because he was protecting me from Jasper and his incorrigible friends. Funny how things work out. Well, stalking me _that_ time. "

She stopped her angry rant at the back door and did an about face to confront Peter, hands on her hips. "You're that Peter, right? So where's Carol? Isn't she like your wife or something?" Her body canted a bit and bumped into the back door. She decided to stay there since the room didn't seem very steady any longer.

Several unidentifiable emotions flashed across Peter's face as he slowly approached her, taking her hand. "Maybe you oughta sit down before you fall down, sugar." She didn't resist as he gently led her to her chair at the table.

"But I want my drink," she complained.

He pushed her down in her seat. "I'll get it for ya."

By the time she planted her hands on the table to stand up, Peter had returned and was sitting in the chair next to hers, his hand covering hers.

"Did the boy kill those scumbags?" Peter's eyes had a harsh glint.

"Uh, no. He growled at them, they ran away, and then we got in his car and left." Frowning, she pulled her hand out from under his and crossed her arms. "What about Carol?"

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line and grumbled, "The little pissant shoulda killed 'em. Damn, that animal blood makes 'em stupid."

"Yeah, he probably should have, but he didn't." Bella did her best to glare at him. "At least I don't think he did." She waved her hand as if to shoo away those thoughts and recrossed her arms. "Where's your wife? Because if you're here cheating on her … well, I don't care how good looking you are, I'm no home wrecker."

"Her name is _Charlotte_ , and I ain't cheatin' on her, sugar. She wasn't my wife. We were …" Peter scratched at his head, raked his fingers through his hair, and let out a gusty sigh. "We were … comrades. Brothers-in-arms. Companions." He lowered his head and peered up at her. "Lovers," he added reluctantly. "But when she met the fella that touched her heart, we parted as friends and I wished her well. If she needs a hand, all she's gotta do is call. If I should get in a bind, I know she'll come and help me out of it. I've met a lot of vampires, but she's one of the very few in this whole world I can call a true friend."

Peter was looking a little blurry around the edges and Bella was struggling to bring him into focus. "She was your girlfriend and you broke up? She left you for another guy?" Saddened, Bella felt bad for Peter. She knew what it was like to be dumped. "I thought when vampires were in love they stayed in love forever. Or that was what I was told. But I guess Edward lied about that along with everything else. He didn't really love me anyway."

Peter was shaking his head. "That boy don't love nothin' but himself."

A tear trickled down Bella's cheek as she leaned toward him and grabbed his hand. "I'm so, so sorry Charlotte broke your heart Peter," she sniffled. "I really am." She wiped the tear away and gripped his hand with both of hers. "You love somebody and then they go and rip your heart out and it's just not fair and so … so sad."

"Bella … babe." With his free hand, he combed her hair back from her face and cupped her cheek. "You're somethin' else when you've got a snootful." His chuckle was deep and throaty. "She didn't break my heart. She didn't break up with me. She met her mate, and I wasn't gonna stand in her way."

"You just let her go? What made her think he was the one when she already had _you_?" Bella's tear-filled eyes implored him.

"You're makin' me feel all kindsa special, sugar." Peter winked at her. "Pheromones don't lie, babe. They led Charlotte right to her man, and they led me right to you."

"Pheromones?" Bella sat back in her chair, a puzzled frown on her face, hair trailing through Peter's fingers. "Edward said I smelled better to him than anything, but he—"

"Is a lyin' fool," he finished for her. "It's different, sugar. Humans sense pheromones, they just don't realize they're doin' it. Some folks ya just like better'n'others. Others ya wanna smack in the face the first time ya meet 'em. It's because of how they smell to ya." Peter subtly moved his chair closer to her. "From what Jasper _did_ tell me, to the _boy_ you were the bacon-wrapped filet mignon at a banquet of cheap, greasy cheeseburgers. Completely different."

Bella opened her mouth to speak and slowly closed it again. Looking down, she nodded slowly. "I kinda knew that. He told me often enough." She sighed resignedly. "He told me over and over again how hard it was not to kill me. I guess I was nothing more than a lab rat he was trying not to eat. I suppose the clinical trial was successful since he didn't kill me."

Peter's fingers, that had worked their way back into her hair, began to tremble. "I'm gonna kill that useless piece of shit."

"You can't kill him!" Bella protested, her left hand taking hold of his to pull it from her hair and place it back on the table where she patted and held it down. "We'll discuss it later."

"What? After what that high-and-mighty, thinks-he's-better-n-everybody-else—" Peter cut off his tirade when he saw the dark glint in Bella's eyes.

"We'll discuss that _later_." Her eyes grew wide as she raised her chin. "Now, what makes Charlotte think she's going to get along with this guy just because he smells good to her?"

"Charlotte doesn't take any shit, so as long as he behaves himself, they'll get along just fine. If he doesn't she knows how to make him real _unhappy_." The smirk reappeared. "It's like … um … she scented him out and we found him. He was just a potential mate until they fell in love. They've been together seven years now. I think she'd have told me if he pissed her off because she woulda killed him and I'da helped her dispose of the body." Peter chuckled again. "Scent draws you in … points you in the right direction."

"So there's _potentially_ more than one person who could be your mate or partner? I thought it was like fate or something because it sure seemed like Esme and Carlisle were meant to be together. Then Rosalie found Emmett. She begged Carlisle to change him for her. Then Alice and—"

" _Alice_ ," Peter said with a sneer, "is a delusional bitch. Never trusted her, and I don't know what Jasper sees in her, the bony little—" He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "Anyhow, sugar, all I know is what I hear. There might be more than one possible mate out there for ya, though it seems meetin' them is rare. Once ya meet and fall for 'em that's pretty much _it_." He sighed. "Well, they'd have to do somethin' pretty damn awful for ya to want to get rid of 'em, but from what I _hear_ , once they fall in love," he paused to bring her hand to his mouth. "Vampires tend to stay in love."

Bella's lips formed a silent _O_ of surprise. She then pulled her hand away and clasped it with the other against her chest. "Uh … uh …" she stammered, her cheeks turning a soft pink. "Um, so how … how did you meet the Cullens?"

Peter drew closer to her and looked deeply into her eyes. "Through Jasper. In our travels, me and Charlotte managed to catch up to 'em. It was a real short visit after the black-haired runt and the momma's boy decided they didn't like us. Red-eyed monsters and all. Our depraved thoughts were disturbin' the delicate flower's sensibilities . The usual."

Bella nodded in agreement. "Edward never was very tolerant of anything that didn't match his extremely narrow and restrictive idea of how things _should_ be. According to _him_." Bella murmured thoughtfully. "He and Alice were two peas in a pod. How did you meet Jasper?"

"He murdered me."

"Er, oh?" She grabbed her glass with both hands. "Vampire thing, I guess?"

"Yup. A long time ago, Maria, the bitch in charge, took a shine to me and ordered Jasper to catch me and change me into a vampire. She liked big, tall blonds." Peter waggled his eyebrows.

Transfixed, Bella just stared at him, wide-eyed. "I can see why," she muttered, not realizing she said it out loud. Shaking her head again, she tried to find something else to look at, but couldn't tear her gaze away from him. "W-was that the Vampire Wars?"

"You heard about that?"

"A little."

"Yeah. They say Maria's mate was killed years and years before, and she put together a group of newborn vampires to seek vengeance. I guess after she got her vengeance, she found a new callin'."

"Collecting blond men?" Bella was all innocence as she sipped at her drink.

"Oh, you're a real funny one, sugar." He flashed her an appreciative smile. "Nah, I think she was more into the world domination."

Puzzled, Bella cocked her head to the side and spread her hands over the table. "I thought when a vampire lost their mate they wanted to die?"

"Some do. It ain't hard to get yourself killed if ya really want to. You just gotta piss off somebody bigger or meaner than you. I heard tell there were a couple that just walked into a fire. Then there's Maria. She found another way to keep herself occupied. Sadistic bitch," he said with a slight sneer.

He cleared his throat loudly. "She could only control about a dozen newborns herself, but then she got Jasper. With his power, he could handle nearly thirty of the crazy bastards. You know about his power, right?"

"Yeah." She finally noticed Peter's finger tracing over the back of her hand. "Empath. He used it on me often enough. Mainly to keep me calm so I wouldn't hyperventilate or argue with Edward, I think. The jerk." She took another gulp of her doctored iced tea, pushed her glass away, and laid her head down on her arm.

"Jasper _was_ an asshole sometimes." A faint smile lit Peter's face. "I liked him better when he was. He used to be the biggest, baddest dog in the yard. He hooks up with that … well, he meets that snooty little female and she turned him into a prissified poodle. It's a wonder she doesn't put pretty little bows in his luscious long locks."

Snorting out a laugh, Bella protested, "Alice wasn't as bad as Edward."

"I respectfully disagree, sugar. Get Jasper a little upset, or get him away from the little dictator, and you can tell he's from Texas—he's twangin' all over the place. You know little Miss Prada Versace was from Mississippi? Ever hear her slip into her southern belle?"

It wasn't easy while lying on her arm, but Bella shook her head. Her eyes were feeling so heavy.

"A southern accent doesn't fit the _image_ she prefers to portray." Peter's voice lowered. "Jasper had some trouble with the emotions—he needed the break from it. There wasn't anything wrong with the rest of him, but that … _Alice_ has done her best to make him, and everybody else, think so."

There was no arguing with the truth. Alice had fought mightily to make Bella over into whatever her vision was. "I didn't fit her image either. She tried to change everything about me."

"I take it it didn't work," Peter whispered.

"Not even a little."

He leaned closer. "I'm glad."

"Thank you, Peter." Her eyes closed.

After a few moments, her breaths evened out into soft little snores. Very gently, Peter sat her up, rested her head against his chest, and lifted her up into his arms, deeply inhaling her scent. He carried her to her room and laid her on the unmade bed. Dashing to the laundry room, he grabbed the freshly washed and line-dried quilt and brought it back to cover her.

He kissed the side of her head as he tucked her in. "You're perfect the way you are."

.

~o~o~o~


	9. Night Train Chapter 9

Derivative work.

* * *

~o~o~o~

.

Bella hadn't slept so well in years. She felt … _good_. It was so sinfully divine to just lay all nestled in her bed—she inhaled deeply and snuggled even farther into her pillow. It smelled heavenly; making her glad she had washed the bedding.

Then she remembered she hadn't made her bed. She'd fled into the house, and Peter had taken the laundry from the line.

Including her underwear!

Her eyes snapped open and she jerked away from her pillow. With the abrupt movement, she realized she was still in her clothes from the night before. Her jeans were worn and soft, but that didn't mean she wanted to sleep in them.

The pillow covers were white. Why was she seeing grey?

Bolting upright, she stared down at a piece of fabric she didn't recognize and lifted it. It was a T-shirt. Tentatively, she held it to her nose and sniffed.

Peter.

On the verge of panic, she twisted around to see if he was lying on the other side of her bed.

It was empty—as was the bench under the window. She turned back to the door. It was closed.

Clutching the worn shirt to her chest, she strained to pick up any unusual sounds. The bathroom door was wide open and it didn't appear anyone was in there.

She was alone! She collapsed back onto the pillows.

Not being a drinker, she might have had a little too much the night before, and was quite relieved Peter hadn't taken advantage. He must have put her to bed and retrieved the quilt to cover her.

Then left his shirt with her.

He'd been half-naked and she missed it. She didn't bother to suppress the disappointment at that squandered opportunity. She could certainly understand why the sadistic bitch Maria had taken a _shine_ to him, and she was more than a little curious about what was under the T-shirt.

And more than a little appreciative of the good night's sleep.

Had it been because of the alcohol or Peter's scent? Impulsively, she sat up and buried her nose in the shirt.

Peter's scent stirred a memory she couldn't quite grasp. A memory of a feeling? Whatever it was, she had to admit it was the cause of the best night's rest she'd had in years.

Was it simply because of the vampire scent? Edward and Alice had each had a syrupy sweet smell. Emmett had reminded her of apples in autumn. She sniffed at the shirt again. It was anything but sugary. It was … she wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't candy-like.

If she had to describe it somehow she would say it was more _robust_.

Dare she even think it?

 _Manly_.

Peter smelled like a man. Or what a man _should_ smell like.

A little perturbed, she told herself it was a bit undignified to huff the man's shirt, and reluctantly put it down.

What _had_ they talked about the night before? With a head stuffed with cotton, she gave herself a thump to try and shake something loose.

Car … er, _Charlotte_ , and how there could be more than one mate for a vampire, though finding them was rare. Jasper's accent and the fact Alice didn't have one even though she was from the south. How Alice tried to make over everyone to suit her _visions_.

Not something a true friend would do.

Bella had a sneaking suspicion that Alice really wasn't Jasper's _mate_ if she worked so hard to change everything about him. None of them had had any complaints about Jasper's particular skill set when he'd torn James to pieces.

James! Bella smacked her head again with both hands and groaned. How could she have forgotten to tell Peter about _Victoria?_ She'd have to as soon as possible. He could be in danger just showing up at her house!

She hoped he showed up again.

If only she'd asked him for his phone number! Did he even have a phone?

Maybe she could learn to act like a grown up and pay more attention to her own.

Her bladder's state of near-to-bursting suddenly made itself known. A quick look at her alarm clock had her flinging back the covers and leaping out of bed. It was eleven fifteen! She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so long. She fled into the bathroom.

~o~o~o~

After finishing a big bowl of lunch time oatmeal, Bella was absently sipping a second cup of coffee on the back porch and arguing with herself, idly drifting back and forth on the swing.

She should tell Peter to leave. What if he stayed around and Victoria showed up? It had been a couple months since Jacob had mentioned the vengeful vamp. She could be searching and slaughtering her way across the country. Bella knew staying in one place for so long just increased the likelihood of being found, but she liked her job, and she hadn't really worried about Victoria rampaging through the school. That would attract a lot of attention. If anything, the red-haired demoness was good at keeping under the radar until she wanted to be noticed. Would she massacre a room full of little kids just to take Bella out?

With a shudder, Bella thought the bitch was smarter than that. Although it was puzzling that she seemed to be spending her time taunting the wolves every couple weeks. Did she think Bella would eventually show up in La Push? It'd been years.

Maybe there was some kind of vampire dementia and Victoria was suffering from it. Stuck on repeat in the Olympic Peninsula. She'd been doing it for a long time, but it had easily been two months since she'd led the wolves on a merry chase. Why had she stopped?

She must have finally realized Bella wasn't going to show. What if she _had_ decided to start hunting for her? What if she showed up when Charlie was visiting?

The smooth, deep, "Hey, sugar," caught her so completely off guard, an ear-splitting shriek was followed by the coffee mug being flung out into the yard.

"If ya didn't like my shirt, sugar, you coulda just said so."

"Peter! You scared the shit outta me!" One hand over her rapidly pounding heart, the other pressed against her forehead, Bella tried to catch her breath. After a moment or two, she stood on shaky legs and stepped toward the porch rail. "What's wrong with your shirt?"

After retrieving the miraculously unbroken mug from the ground, Peter sauntered toward her. "Nothin', I _thought_ , but if you don't like The Eagles …" He gestured to the dark splash across the medium blue graphic T sporting a print of a painted bird skull.

Realizing what the stain was and how it got there, Bella took a step back and dropped onto the swing, elbows resting on her thighs and covering her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Peter. I was thinking about … _stuff_ … and didn't even see you." She dropped one hand and peered up at him. "I _do_ like the Eagles."

"Good to know." He set the empty mug on the porch rail and joined her, resting his left arm along the back of the swing behind her. "I made noise comin' out of the woods, and with my arms sparklin' in the sunshine, I was pretty sure you'd notice me. I think my feelin's are hurt." He gave her an exaggerated sad face and his right hand splayed over his chest.

She jerked upright and turned toward him so fast her hair whipped around her shoulders. "Oh, Peter. I forgot to tell you about Victoria! You need to leave!"

Completely baffled, Peter cocked his head and pushed his hat up off his forehead. "Um, is this Victoria like a lady frienda yours? I didn't smell nobody else around here, and I know you said ya dated Edward and all, and he's about the girliest male I ever seen that wasn't wearin' a dress and high heels. I mean, it wouldn't surprise me the least little bit if he did, but if you got a girlfriend …"

"No!" Bella grabbed handfuls of her hair and shook her head. "She's one of the nomads I told you about. Jasper killed James, then the wolves killed Laurent, but Victoria's still out there!" She jumped to her feet and had to brace her hand against the rail for balance as she crossed in front of him. "My friend Jacob is one of the wolves and we call each other about once a month or so. For _years_ , Victoria has been taunting them. Every couple of weeks she would show up at the reservation, the guys would chase her and she'd get away—disappear into the woods or jump into the ocean. Always just a step ahead of them."

When she reached the end of the porch, she turned back and studied him sitting as still as a statue on the old swing. She'd never seen a more handsome man in her life. They'd just met, but he'd already come to mean so much to her. She couldn't bear to see him hurt. "I'm sorry, Peter, but you need to leave," she said sadly.

Was that pain she saw in his eyes? Dropping both hands onto the rail and looking out to the yard, she hung her head and let out a long, slow breath.

A moment later, he was beside her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "I don't understand, sugar. I thought we were doin' good gettin' to know each other—gettin' along. We got the beginnin's of a plan. Why do you want me to leave? Did I do somethin'?"

Rising up, she took his hand and held it in both of hers. "No, that's not it. It's not you—"

"It's not me, it's _you?"_ His eyes narrowed and he started to pull away from her. "What's goin' on, sugar? You think I don't know that line's bullshit?" With his free hand, he pushed her hair back off her shoulder, and then, with one fingertip, drew a faint line down the side of her neck. "You changin' your mind on me? You know you can't."

A shiver overtook her body, but it wasn't from fear or the coolness of his touch. The burgundy of his eyes grew darker with what Bella could only describe as anger, but she held onto his hand even more tightly. "I know I can't. Peter, please, I—" She gulped. "I'm not explaining this very well."

"No, you're not," he gruffly agreed. He pulled his hand from hers and took a step back. "I been wearin' my heart on my sleeve for you, Bella. I know words don't mean nothin' to ya since you heard so many lies from that boy, but words are all I got. I need _time_ to show ya I mean what I say, and you want me to leave? I _told_ you I wasn't goin' nowhere and I meant it."

As he took another step away from her, she could see his hands were shaking as he reached up and took off his hat. He tossed it to the swing behind him and combed his fingers through his hair. His chin jerked upward as he propped his hands on his belt. Looking down at her, he took in a deep breath. "How 'bout you make this all crystal clear so there's no misunderstandin's."

It wasn't a request.

In that moment, eyes dark, nostrils flaring with each breath, he was the embodiment of the apex predator, and Bella still wasn't afraid of him.

How could she make him understand he would be in danger if he stayed nearby? He was one of the most dangerous beings on the planet, but so was Victoria. It was bad enough her father would soon be there for a week while Victoria had gone missing from her _play_ _dates_ with the Quileutes. Bella couldn't tell her father to cancel his trip. There was no valid excuse and he had looked forward to it since his last visit. And there was the fact Bella wanted to see him one last time.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she didn't know what to do, but she knew she couldn't bear to see Peter injured or killed because of her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she dropped her head. "James was Victoria's mate and Jasper killed him. Edward had said he hadn't read anything in their thoughts but Jasper said he could tell Victoria was really attached to James. He said they should kill her, too. Edward said she wasn't a problem and the rest of them believed _him_." She blew out a breath, and her hand went to her forehead as she looked out into the bright, sunny yard. "A while after Edward and the rest of them left Forks was when Laurent showed up. He said Victoria was after me—a mate for a mate. But she never showed up while I was still there. After I graduated and left, she started making appearances near the reservation. Every two weeks, almost like clockwork. I'm surprised Jake even told me about it. Probably because my Dad is still there." Her hands dropped to the porch rail and she leaned against it. "The past couple of months, Jake hasn't mentioned her." Bella glanced at Peter. He hadn't moved a muscle. Eyes dropping to the rail, she started picking at the worn paint. "I'll call and talk to him, but I think I know what she must be doing. I think she finally left Washington and is looking for me."

She turned to face him and tried to ignore the moisture clouding her eyes. "Peter, I—" She could hardly speak past the lump in her throat. "You need to leave because if she found you here … I couldn't _stand_ it if you got hurt!"

The tears she'd been holding back began to fall. She spun away from him and angrily wiped at them. Why did her eyes leak every time she got upset about anything?

Before she could take another breath, Peter's arms were around her and he was nuzzling her cheek.

"You got no idea what you just said means to me. Thank you for bein' concerned, sugar, but you got nothin' to worry about," he whispered huskily into her ear. "How do you think I survived all those years in the Southern Wars? There ain't but a handful of vampires got a hope in Hell of kickin' my ass and that bitch ain't one of 'em." He kept her encircled in his arms as he nudged her around to face him.

"You listen to me good, Bella," he spoke to the top of her head. "You're way over on this side of the country 'cause you thought she'd follow you back here? Leave your friends and your dad alone? Yeah, you live and work here, but you got no friends or real kind of life. I know. I checked your phone. Is it to protect them? Fightin' that vampire the only way you know how? Maybe it's time for the fighter to be fought for."

Taking comfort from the broad hand gliding gently up and down her back, she finally looked up at him. His eyes had lightened to their usual deep wine color. "You can't, Peter. She could hurt—"

"She ain't gonna hurt me." He assured her, pressing one finger to her lips. "Isolatin' yourself like you have, you've only lived half a life. The Cullens stole that from ya. Time to take it _all_ back. I saw that anger you got that ain't buried so deep. You can take it out on yourself, on me, or the folks that deserve it." His finger traced over her bottom lip. "What's it gonna be, sugar?" One eyebrow rose with his question.

His body pressed to hers was making it impossible for her to think. Maybe it was time to stop thinking so much.

Her eyes roamed his handsome face—the challenging twinkle in the rich burgundy of his eyes, the upturned corner of his sensuous mouth. He wanted time and offered to give her more. Could she trust him? Maybe, for the first time in a long time, she should just go with the blooming hope in her heart and not get caught up in her fears and the anger he so rightly identified. Every day that she woke up alive, she was taking a chance on it being her last one. What did she have to lose?

Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly and deeply. She would take a chance on him.

When she opened her eyes, it was to his smiling face. Spreading her fingers over his chest, she returned his smile with a tentative one of her own. "I want to stop worrying about it all the time, Peter. I want to take my life back."

He pulled her even closer and buried his face in her hair at her neck. "That's my girl." After a moment that wasn't nearly long enough, he eased back, his lips brushing over her cheek. "So when's Daddy comin'? Can't wait to meet 'im."

.

~o~o~o~


End file.
